


Everly and the Apocalypse

by Lulu3



Category: Divergent (Movies), Divergent - All Media Types, Divergent Series - Veronica Roth
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Apocalypse, Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Hurt, I am once again asking for Eric to fall in love when he doesn't want to, Loneliness, Love, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Romance, Survival, Survival Horror, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies, sweet romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:35:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 79,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28921449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lulu3/pseuds/Lulu3
Summary: When Everly's small town is overrun by a zombie outbreak, she must find a way to stay alive and reunite with her family. When she partners up with an office from the next town over, she finds her odds of survival are slim, even with his help. Will she wind up a brain eating zombie or will she and Eric make it through the zombie apocalypse alive?
Relationships: Eric (Divergent)/Original Character(s), Eric and Everly, Four | Tobias Eaton/Tris Prior/Original Character(s), Jason and Meghan, Rylan and Christina
Comments: 36
Kudos: 33





	1. Ground Zero: Landon

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!💖
> 
> After taking a few weeks off, I'm back with a totally different story. I've been writing a ton of things, and I thought this one would be a really fun story to post as fanfic. I'll post the notes below, but I hope everyone enjoys it! Thank you so much to Erin for editing! Any mistakes in the chapters are from me adjusting things.
> 
> 1] This is an Eric + Everly AU.
> 
> 2]This story can be read even if you don't like zombies. The main focus is Eric and Everly. However, if you are sensitive to gore or violence, read with caution. The rating reflects the upcoming content, but I don't think it's anything outrageous.
> 
> 3]The death count will be high and occurs quickly!
> 
> 4] I do not own anything related to Divergent. I do own my original characters and this plot. This story is an AU and takes place in a made up small town. There are no divergents, no war, no factions, and no Four sulking in the corner. Okay, there is Four sulking in the corner but that's inevitable.
> 
> 5] Eric is 24. His job and ranking will be explained.
> 
> 6] Everly is 18. Her life will be explained as the story unfolds.
> 
> 7]Not everything is revealed in the first chapter, so be patient :) There is no updating schedule for this, but I'll do my best to update it once a week depending on how much free time I have.
> 
> 8]This is a fictional take on zombies, so please don't me to tell me your uncle's grandpa's step-brother is a zombie and he does things differently.
> 
> 9]Enjoy and let me know if you liked it! I have it planned as a shorter story, but it'll be just as much fun!
> 
> Thanks for reading

The world ends when I turn eighteen.

It doesn't end in the way anyone thought it would. I'd heard stories predicting the end of times, always hinting at some sort of catastrophic event, like disastrous weather or some biblical revenge cast down upon the world in its final days. I assumed it would happen quickly, perhaps over within minutes, or one day I'd go to sleep and just never wake up.

Instead, it happened slowly, stretched out over the months leading up to my birthday.

I noticed it the first time while sitting on our porch, my arms wrapped about my legs, watching my neighbors Carole and Howard fight over a missing chicken. For a small town, their argument was my Friday night entertainment. Carole was wild in every way; her wavy blonde hair hung to her waist, her animal print pants were garish, and the flower crown she wore was a nice contrast to the manic look in her eye. She and Howard were fine neighbors –friendly and mostly sane – though my mother found them odd. Howard was bug eyed and wiry, and he did whatever Carole asked, while Carole could often be seen in her yard, ranting about chicken rights.

Usually.

This day though, they were fighting loud enough for the whole street to hear.

I watched them go round and round, arguing over just exactly where Don had gone, and Carole's voice grew louder, until they stopped altogether. I tried to lean in closer, desperate to hear what she was saying because her defense had shut Howard up, and I wish I hadn't.

Carole swung around, and when our eyes met, she looked different.

Not so smug and intense, but panicked.

She shook her head, pointed past Howard to a girl wandering up the street, and they both stepped back.

I should have, too.

The girl heading our way was a few years older than me. I recognized her from school, tall and pretty and popular, and not all that nice. Normally, she'd barely look in my direction. Hazel always had somewhere to be, and even in the hallways between classes, she was surrounded by a mob of girls wanting to talk to her. That night was the first time I'd seen her alone, without her groupies hanging off of her, seeking out her fleeting approval.

This night, I knew something was wrong. Hazel walked in a weird pattern, sort of clumsy and drunken. One of her ankles was turned in, dragging on the ground like it was broken. Her hair hung limply, her arms swung in a jerky manner, and her jaw looked like someone had smashed it to the side. I watched for several minutes while she stumbled around and seemed like she couldn't see. By the time she neared my house, Carole was hissing my name, urging me to get inside.

I waited one second to long. Carole's voice rose to a shrill pitch I hadn't heard before, and it sent a chill down my spine.

"Everly, go! Go inside and lock your door. Hurry. Before she gets over here. Get inside and lock the door. Hurry."

I looked at Carole and Howard as I stood up but froze when Hazel noticed all of us.

There was something off about her reaction when she realized we were there. Her head tilted to the side, like an animal listening for its prey, and her jaw moved uncontrollably. When she opened her mouth, a few of her teeth were missing, and the rest were covered in blood.

I hopped up so fast I nearly tripped. I was inside before Hazel could lurch forward a single step, and I fumbled to the lock the door. The heavy bolt slipped as I tried to jam it into place, and I knew I couldn't. Our house was old and creaky, and sometimes the structure shifted, making it impossible for the locks to line up.

"Shit, shit, shit!"

I can see the faint outline of Hazel as she stumbled closer, and the way her foot turned made my stomach tighten. I finally managed to shove the lock all the way through, and then nearly collapsed with relief when it clicked into place.

"Everly, are you okay? What's going on down there?"

The voice of my mother floated down from upstairs, light and easy, but tired. I yelled back a yes, because really, I didn't know what my mom could do. It was just us; my father has been working out of state for a few months, and he'd left behind a family of too many children all needing attention. My mom had been struggling to keep up with all of us, and I'd done my part to try and not involve her in anything unnecessary.

At that exact moment in time, I felt like Hazel was unnecessary.

Maybe she was just sick, or maybe she'd hit her head, but whatever it was, I was inside and safe, and Hazel couldn't break through the door.

"Everly, are you sure? I thought you were outside. What is Carole yelling about?"

I yelled back that I was fine, and Carole was always yelling about something, and my mother seemed satisfied with that answer. When she yelled back to come get ready for bed, I peeked out the window to see if Carole and Howard were okay. When I couldn't see them, I assumed they'd gone inside, and my night returned to boring nothingness. I went upstairs, washed my face, and eventually fell asleep reading a book Forrest had left behind. It was about someone playing a game, and the twisted turns lead to crazy adventures.

The next morning I woke up, certain that Hazel was dream.

That is, until I saw her a few days later, stumbling down the road with one arm completely ripped off.

They said it was a chicken virus.

Carole was personally insulted, as though she supplied our town with all the chickens and didn't hoard them in her backyard. Much to the dismay of everyone around us, she loudly rebuked the idea. I listened to her and Howard talk about it while I lounged in the garden, ignoring the shrieks of my brothers and sisters playing in the tree house.

Things had been mostly quiet.

Sort of.

It had been a few months since I saw Hazel. I had since turned eighteen, a lackluster affair since my father was still gone and the best my mother could do was a pink cake with the wrong number of candles. I'd gotten a few gifts from my friends, but it was clear my mother had forgotten until the last minute. I didn't say much, because things were mostly alright, but sometimes they weren't.

Sometimes I saw Hazel.

Sometimes I saw her walking along, looking lost and confused. She never responded when I said her name, and the only time I got close to her, I was too afraid to do much. I went to the store the other day, starting to avoid where she was if I could, and I often forgot she was still out there, and it seemed like everyone else had, too.

Except for one.

Carole noticed. On a still warm day, Carole announced she was missing more chickens and she thought Hazel was messing with them. This time three –her most prized ones, the fattest and fluffiest and probably meanest. She had been on Howard to install a security camera, and he hesitated because he thought it would scare off the wildlife. I listened to them go round and round, figuring this was more entertaining than trying to figure out what was going on with the girl from my school.

A few days ago, Hazel showed back up again. She seemed like this area, because she kept walking the street, night and day, until a neighbor must have called it in. Just as the sun was beginning to set, our lone sheriff came by, and he tried to talk to her.

I watched from my bedroom window.

Ian was a good sheriff. He was kind and easy going, but brave when he needed to be. Our small town had little crime, and he spent most of his days helping the community. He had a staff of a dozen officers, all wearing the same dark uniform, all just as friendly. He trained them himself, having no patience for anyone to be unnecessarily rough and intimidating, and most of them were highly respected. A few weren't, but not everyone was a good person, no matter how hard Ian tried.

That day, it was clear Ian was a good person, but it was also clear, that he had no idea what to do. He tried talking to Hazel, tried getting her in his patrol car, and even tried calling in backup to take her to the local hospital. Eventually, she stumbled away, head cocked at the sky, paying no mind to Ian calling her name. Her foot dragged along, bent completely now, and her lone arm was now varying shades of bruised grey and purple.

The image of her lurching down the sharp ravine stayed in my mind, right up until today.

This morning, I went into town to grab some things for dinner and I noticed a weird feeling in the air. It was tense and heavy, like a blanket I wanted to kick off. I felt it first while I walked, how everything was eerily silent when it normally wasn't, and it made me nervous.

All the birds had stopped chirping. There were no animals scurrying anywhere, and even the cows and sheep normally grazing along the farms weren't out. The little market offering fresh produce and meat was deserted except for the butcher and the elderly clerk, and the outside where people normally sat to talk was empty. I grabbed the things I needed, tried to make small talk, but stopped when Jerry kept looking over my head. I asked if he was alright and he nodded, but his eyes stayed on the windows when he handed me my bag, and he told me to get home safe and not to mess around.

I would normally write him off as being paranoid, but it seemed like there was a pretty decent chance he knew something I didn't.

On my walk back home, I took a different route. I went by the library, cutting through the park and across the schoolyard. It wasn't as quiet over here. There were little kids playing at the preschool, some families leaving the basketball courts, and a few talking with the teachers. I recognized one as a teacher I'd had for a math class, and he frowned when the woman he was speaking with stepped away from him.

His skin was grey.

Not as grey as the concrete he was standing on, but grey in a way I'd never seen before. Grey like Hazel's arm. His lips were an odd color, too. Dark, like they were filled with old blood, and his eyes were tired. He waved, but his fingers didn't quite work right, and his wrist had a funny bump on the side. I clutched the bag tighter to my chest, slowing down to get a better look, and I nearly tripped.

The woman's skin was the same shade of grey.

Her eyes were just as dull, and when she scratched at her arm aimlessly, it left several dark red marks on her skin. She did it again, over and over, until it became clear she wasn't feeling the slivers of her skin peel up.

I left immediately; I hurried home, rushing through the pathway lined with trees and down the winding streets. I got home just in time to catch my mother watching the tail end of the news, and I listened while I put the groceries away. According to the perfectly made-up news anchor, there was a virus working its way through our cities, and our small town had been hit. It was thought to come from contaminated chicken, but it was mostly harmless. It would cause mild symptoms like chills, fever, malaise, and if the fever was high enough –weird visions. They advised us all to stay home, stay hydrated, and avoid handling livestock if you could. They believed the virus was animal born, something my mother did not.

Nor did Carole.

"Do they really believe Mr. Cluckers has a virus? Do they really think this is coming from Nugget? You know what I think this is? A plot to destroy my farm! For months now, I've had everyone after my chickens. They aren't for sale nor, are they for dinner!"

Carole's voice rose over the short fence, over the rose bushes my father had planted, and over to me. I turned the page in my book slowly, hoping I would hear more.

"Carole, calm down. They're aren't targeting you. There are some diseases that can be picked up from improper handling of –"

I tuned Howard out.

He was practical in his logic that this isn't a big deal, but not impossible. I listen to him talk about how this doesn't explain Hazel and her missing arm, but it also could explain why a few of Carole's chickens had gone missing. Howard assures her they're probably fine, but perhaps had been hit with the very same virus everyone else has, and it was unlikely Hazel gone into the chicken coup.

"Everly, are you out here? Hello!"

I look up and see a police car parked at the side of our house, with the lights turned on. For a second, the officer stares into our yard, shielding his eyes for a better look. He then walks toward me, immediately familiar, but unfortunately so.

It's Landon, and he cuts through our yard like he lives here. He waves hello to my slew of brothers and sisters, all perched high in the tree, laughing and giggling as he walks beneath them, and he saunters over to where I'm sitting. His uniform is similar to Ian's, but Landon has never been able to duplicate Ian's kind nature. Or his easy going way of reassuring everyone we were safe. Landon is too arrogant and smug, and despite being only a few years older than me, has some mild authority given his job, which makes him even worse.

I'd have to talk to him, or he could arrest me.

"No, I'm not home. None of us are," I answer quickly, and I open the book to a random page. The words blur before my eyes, and I try to focus on reading them. "Go away, Landon."

"Don't be rude, Everly." Landon frowns, and I hate him. His long hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and the uniform doesn't make him look as cool as he thinks it does. "I came to talk to you about Hazel. We got a call she was spotted around here again."

I look up with as little interest as I can.

I'm tempted to tell him I'm reading and he can come back later, but it's been a few days since I've seen Hazel, and I'm curious if they've run into her.

"Have you seen her?"

"Have you seen her?" Landon asks, and he rocks back on his heels. "Carole called in to report several missing chickens and two dead ones. I was assigned to come out and investigate because she thought maybe it was Hazel messing with her. Since you live next door, I thought perhaps you'd seen something."

"I haven't seen anyone murdering chickens, but I have seen Hazel. She was here the other day. She's missing an arm." I sit up, ignoring the way his gaze skirts over my bare legs. It's almost fall, but the days are still warm enough that I have no need for pants. "Ian tried to talk to her, and she acted like she couldn't hear him. Shouldn't she be…sick from missing her arm?"

"Ian did say it looked like it had been torn off," Landon answers evenly, and he looks over the fence. "I don't know. I guess maybe she's in shock. Hey, is your mom doing okay? I saw her yesterday. She didn't look good."

"She's fine."

My answer is sharp, and we both know better.

Despite being very capable and levelheaded, there was only so much one person with multiple children, a large farm property, and neighbors crusading for chicken rights could handle.

"What's wrong with Hazel?" I sit up straighter, pulling my legs beneath me. "Have you seen her?"

"No. Do you know? I thought you knew everything." Landon stares, and I bite back the retort of telling him to go find someone else.

A year ago, I'd gone out on a date with him. I felt like I was doing something wrong given his age, but his father was a good friend of ours, and he assured me Landon had only the best of intentions. My mom helped me do my hair, I picked out a pretty dress, and I spent the next three hours wishing I'd stayed home. Landon spent most of the night talking about himself, grilling me about my dating history, and comparing me to an ex-girlfriend he'd had previously. When I didn't meet his standards, he dropped me off at home, and left before I was halfway up the driveway.

A few months ago, he and his perfect ex then current but then ex again girlfriend broke up for good. Devastated and desperate, Landon came looking for me, only I'd already decided that being someone's second best wasn't anything I was interested in.

I told him to go jump in the creek, and a day later, he ratted me out to his dad, Jerry. I got a lecture about being rude and giving people second chances, and at that moment, I vowed to stay away from Landon whenever I could.

"I just…I heard there's something off. Maybe she got the…the chicken thing." Landon looks at me again, and I shake my head. "No? You think it's something else?"

"Her arm is missing, Landon. No one finds it strange that she's trampling through the woods, not caring that she's bleeding and had one arm ripped off?" I close the book, and he takes another step closer, pausing when Carole starts to yell about a footprint. "There's Carole now. Maybe you should go talk to her."

"When was the last time you saw Hazel?" Landon asks, but he lowers his voice. "What's wrong with Carole?"

"The last time I saw Hazel, she was walking up and down the street. She didn't respond to anyone, and I'm assuming someone called asking for help." I pause, and Howard's answer of he'll call Ian evokes a large sigh from everyone. "Carole is mad because she thinks someone is stealing her chickens. You should probably go investigate. She knows more than I do."

Landon blinks.

Nothing about his posture screams that he wants to go visit Carole or her chickens. He looks like he'd much prefer if I invite him to sit down and share my lemonade, perhaps enjoy a few minutes in the warm sun, before he gets back to work. He goes as far as to look at the empty chair bedside me, until I cheerfully point out that the gate is open, and he can cut right on over to Carole's.

"Alright, I'll…see you around. Stay safe. Try to stay home, too. Ian's gonna send out a bulletin and start a curfew. He thought that might help." Landon lingers, tossing me a longing look, but I shake my head. "Have a good night, Everly."

"Bye."

I return to my book, listening to Landon's boots thump over the stones my father had placed. Eventually, he greets Carole and Howard, and it takes him a good hour to get through her whole story. Landon leaves looking torn; while her story is wild and twisty, there was a very small chance someone is actively hunting her chickens down.

I think about this as the sun sinks into the trees, and the darkness slowly spreads over the yard. My brothers and sisters go inside when my mother calls them, and I stay out just a few minutes longer to enjoy having no one around me. I recline back in the chair and close my eyes, thinking of my dad and how absolutely ridiculous he'd find all of this. My dad loved animals and people. He had a funny appreciation for how quirky and unique they were, even Carole.

He would have helped her look for the chickens, maybe even offered to lend a hand in starting a search party, or gone and bought her some new ones just to shut her up. I smile when I think of how he and I used to hunt for fireflies down by the river, but I stop smiling when I hear the crunch.

It's loud.

It's followed by a muffled snort of impatience, and a low grunt. I sit upright when I hear the grinding of teeth mashing together, and the smell hits me before I can stand up.

It's a weird smell, like rotting trash mixed with dead skunk, and I gag as I scamper away.

"What the…"

My question vanishes into the air, into the dark night sky and stars, because coming from the front of the house is not Carole or Howard or Landon, but Hazel. Hazel with the missing arm, the bloody teeth, and the dead eyed stare of someone who isn't actually alive.

The fear is hot and fast, especially when Hazel heads toward me. Her eyes move around in their sockets without purpose, and her gait is awkward. I swear when she speeds up, nowhere near fast enough to catch me, but faster than I'd like, and my foot catches the step. I lose my balance for a second, but I catch it just in time. I manage to make it onto the porch and inside before she passes the chair I was sitting on. I slam the door shut as hard as I can, scrambling to lock it, and luckily for me, it's easier this time.

Also lucky for me, Hazel loses interest.

Something must have caught her attention. She tilts her head in the direction of Carole's yard, and I watch with wide eyes as she heads through the gate Landon went through. He forgot to shut it, and while not normally an issue, tonight it is.

Hazel crashes into the side of it, and there's some manic fumbling as she tears through the opening like she's on a mission. I stand there frozen in place as Hazel disappears and only then do I move. I grab the phone and call the sheriff's station, hoping and praying they will at least send Landon back, but there's no answer.

Only a recording telling me all officers have currently been dispatched, and to stay inside, locking all doors and windows.

"Goodnight, Everly."

Zander kisses my cheek sloppily. His tiny hands press on each side of my face, and there's a moment of annoyance when he leans against me. I still let him. Barely three, he has no boundaries, no sense of personal space, and all the affection in the world. My little brother kisses my other cheek, and waits for me to invite him to stay.

This has become a habit.

He hates sleeping alone. One night, Leif read him a story about ghosts, and ever since then, Zander firmly believed everywhere in our home is haunted. His bed. His dresser. His closet. His shoes. Even the tiny action figures he liked to line up. No matter what anyone told him, showed him, or promised him, he refused to listen. Even the monster spray Wesley made him didn't quell his theory that if he slept alone, something would get him in the middle of the night.

While adorable, he's horrible to sleep beside.

"Sleep here."

"Not tonight, dude." I pick him up, and his protest is immediate. "You can sleep with mom. I'm too tired and you sleep sideways."

"No! Stay with you!" He grabs onto a chunk of my hair, pulling when I don't put him down. Zander's tantrum is pretty mild, though understandable in every way. He's overtired, hasn't quite figured out where our father is, and struggles with the idea that one of us could leave him at any moment. "Bad Everly!"

"I love you, too." I answer dryly, and I carry him into my mother's room. She's not in there, but I can hear her brushing her teeth. "Mom, I'm leaving Zander with you. He can't stay in my room. He wants to sleep in my room."

"Okay!" She calls back, not really listening to me. "Zander, you stay with me. Daddy is supposed to come home tonight."

"He is?" I pause by the bed, shocked at this news. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"He just called. He wasn't supposed to be home until next week." My mother emerges from the bathroom, looking stressed. "He sounded funny when I talked to him. He kept asking how everyone is and if we're all okay. I think he's worried about that chicken thing."

"Do you think it's real?" I swat Zander away when he tries to climb back into my arms, and he sulks when my mother tells him to lie down. "Carole said someone killed her chickens. And Hazel has been wandering around missing an arm."

"What?" My mother blinks, and it's a lot like looking at myself. Her long hair is the same dark color as mine, and she's not much taller. Even Leif and Wesley were starting to tower over the both of us, and Wesley loved to point this out whenever he got the chance. "Hazel is missing an arm? What are you talking about?"

"How did you miss this? Didn't you see her?"

My mother sighs. She looks exhausted, and I feel bad that I didn't help her more today. "I don't know. I've been worried about a few things and trying to keep up with everyone. Paisley didn't feel good and Holly broke two of the bowls and the glass went everywhere. I meant to do the laundry and then there was an issue with the goats…"

She pauses when Leif peeks his head in, and his smile is wide. "There's always an issue with the goats. One ate my hat."

"It was an ugly hat, so, really, the goat did you a favor." Wesley snickers, appearing behind Leif out of nowhere. "Mom, have you seen my hair gel?"

"It's late Wesley. Why do you need hair gel?" The exhaustion on my mom's face increases, and she waves us all away. "I'll find it tomorrow. I'm going to bed, and all of you should be going to bed. It's late. Zander, you stay here."

"Bye." Zander yells, burrowing beneath the heavy comforter on the bed. He kicks the sheets every which way, and my mother already looks like she's regretting the decision to keep him in here. "Goodbye. See you later."

"Okay, goodnight and good luck with Zander." Wesley grabs Leif, and the two of them leave, presumably not to go to bed. I follow them out after asking my mom if she needs anything, and her expression makes me nervous.

She forces a weary smile, shakes her head, and turns off the lights right as Zander tells her he can see the ghost coming up the stairs and it's looking for me.

I listen to the news while I get ready.

I dry my hair, idly twisting a few pieces around a brush, and the woman on the tv yammers on about the chicken virus outbreak. She alternates between sounding professional and informed, to sounding fraught with panic. Her voice breaks when she talks about what she's seen, and when she talks about her sister, I stop fixing my hair.

Her voice cracks when she describes the way her sister's eyes turned white, her mouth looked wrong, and her attention became impossible to hold. The woman's voice tenses when she says she dropped her off at our local hospital, and if anyone experiences the same symptoms, that they should be seen immediately. I turn the tv off when she starts talking again, and it hits me that I haven't seen my brothers and sisters today.

This isn't entirely unusual.

Often Paisley and Holly would slip out early, especially on the weekends, to go walk through the woods and down to the lake. Leif and Wesley liked to bike or skateboard down the street, and only Zander would remain home, glued to my mother's side. She's usually outside, working in the garden or helping Carole with some chore that's merely a guise to get her to come over for a visit.

Today, the house is silent.

I set everything down. The hairdryer hits the counter with a clank, and it's amplified in the quiet. I grab the first dress I can find, pink and ruffled, and ideal for lounging around on the back patio, and I call out for my mom when I hear the faint shuffling of footsteps.

"Mom, do you want help? I was thinking I could do the laundry. Or I could take Zander to get ice cream," I call out, slipping on shoes and grabbing a sweater. I pick up my phone and shove it into my pocket, thinking I'll call Sophia and Courtney and see if they want to come over for dinner tonight. It's nearly lunch, now, and maybe they're free. "Mom! Where are you? Is dad home?"

I head down the hallway, pausing at the bannister. I press my fingers to the railing, giving myself a second to look around, but there is no one inside. I do hear faint voices coming from the backyard, but they're impossible to make out. I have hope it's my mom and dad, so I take the steps two at a time, and when I reach the last one, I call out for my mom again.

That's when I see the note.

It's set on the table beside the stairs, and it has my name on it. I skim it quickly, and the words are a confusing rush of apologies.

My mother has left for the day. She's taken everyone with her –Paisley, Holly, Leif, Wesley, and Zander, and they've gone to meet my father in the town an hour away from us. Her excuse for not waking me up is that I looked tired, and she knew I needed a break. The note ends telling me they'll be back by dark, and if not, to stay inside and lock the doors.

I read it again, still confused, and a second later, I'm knocked onto the floor.

My head hits with a thud. There's a wave of black, a few stars, and I gag when I'm hit with the same smell from before. I open my eyes to see Hazel hovering over me, a lump of sick looking grey skin and moving teeth, and she claws at me with her remaining hand. She clumsily catches a chunk of my hair, and my scream agitates her.

Or really, what's left of her.

She's a kaleidoscope of gashes and bruising, like she's rotting from the inside out, and the fragile skin splits apart when I kick her away. I sit up in pure horror when she hits the bannister, and it takes everything in me not to throw up. Her head hits it with a soft thump, like her bones are pliable.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." I scramble away, looking for anything to defend myself. "Stay back! Get away from me!"

Hazel ignores me. There must be a disconnect somewhere, because I swear she looks right at me, then lurches forward. What's left of her hair is matted and damp, and there are feathers stuck in it. They are the color of Carole's chickens, or at least they were. Everything on Hazel is now wet and sticky, and a putrid shade of rot.

I take off.

I reach the front door, running as fast as I can, and I throw it open. There's another thud as Hazel hits something, and I tear down the steps, off the porch, and towards the street. There's some mild relief when I see the police car driving my way, and I wave my arms frantically, screaming for it to stop. I can make out the faint shadow of Ian driving, and he slows down, braking harder than he should.

Something is wrong.

Just when I think things will be okay, the car turns sharply, skidding as it careens off the road and at me, and the front hits my side. There's a wave of pain as I'm thrown forward, and I land on my hands and knees in the gravel. My breathing comes in jagged pants, uneven and terrified, and the faint voices from earlier grow louder.

It must have been them this whole time. Right now, Carole's screams are manic. High pitched and frantic, absolutely terrified. Howard's yelling matches hers, but they're overpowered by the crashing and thudding coming from inside their house. I wrench myself up, pushing on my side where the car hit me, but I don't think it's done any major damage. It feels bruised and tender, but nothing seems broken. I straighten myself up slowly, and I realize Ian is still sitting in the car.

"Ian! Ian, you have to help me!" I gasp the words as I see my neighbors across the way come running out of their home. The husband is pale and sickly, and his leg bent inward at an impossible angle. His hair is missing in chunks, and the wife screams, begging for someone to help. Two houses down, there is more screaming, and someone loudly pleading for the other to stop. "Ian…I….I…."

I take a step backward.

In the car, Ian sits at the steering wheel, chewing on something. The action is violent enough that his lips are bloody, and the side of his face has the start of a gaping hole. One of his fingers is bent backward, and his eyes scan back and forth until they land on me.

"No, no. This can't be happening. Ian…"

He gets out of the car.

There is no grace to his movement, or a single ounce of awareness past realizing I'm there. He cocks his head just like Hazel, his neck cracking and popping, and he walks slowly. One arm swings wildly, and his eyes are cloudy when he turns in my direction.

"Fuck."

I take off, and so does he.

This can't be happening. My mind screams as I run, and I choke back the urge to lose it in the middle of the road.

I can't.

Unlike Hazel, Ian has both arms and is much faster. Even in this state of absolute horror, he is quick. He reaches me before I cross the street, and I tumble down the same ravine Hazel had. It's as unpleasant as one would imagine. I hit everything; rocks, branches, someone's shoe, and a few old toys. I almost manage to get to my feet, but I'm not fast enough.

Ian is over me, pushing me down into soft soil, and I know I'm going to die. His uniform is covered in blood and guts, his hair is damp and sticky, and he smells like death. I fight him off the best I can, kicking and pushing and screaming, until his eyes land on mine.

His are terrifying.

They are an opaque white, rimmed with red and some black, but I swear there's still a faint connection. I push at his chest when he snarls at me, ignoring the heavy weight of him and the understanding that this won't end well for me, when my fingers touch cold metal.

"Ian, no. Please don't kill me. Please," I plead, hoping he'll understand. When he doesn't, I yank the gun out of his holster, and he rears back to attack, lording over his hunt for one final second.

Then he lets go.

The action is a little too quick and frightening. He hops off me like a wild animal and heads further into the ravine in search of better prey. I wince as I sit up, trying to slow my breathing but failing miserably. I watch him for a second, and his hesitation is only because he hears some yelling. The voice calls out asking if anyone is around.

While faint, it must be more enticing than me. Ian stops to listen, then moves in that direction. I have mere seconds to make a decision, and none of my options are good.

I can run back to his car, try to call someone on the radio, or drive off in it.

I can go back home, lock the doors, and try to call 911, praying someone else is there.

Or I can follow Ian and save whoever is out there.

"Shit," I swear, and I know what I have to do. The person in the woods could be anyone: my mom, my dad, my brothers, sisters, maybe one of my friends. I struggle to my feet, and I take the same path Ian did.

The woods are dark and deep, and they swallow me whole by the time I find him.

"Stay there. Don't take another step. Is anyone out there! Can anyone hear me? Linda, do you copy? Linda, I need backup. I need you to send…stay the fuck back!"

The man waves his own gun at Ian, while simultaneously trying to radio someone. From a good distance away, half hidden behind a tree and trying not to scream, I watch as Ian heads toward the man. The guy looks a few years older than me, tall and fit, and he's dressed in a similar uniform to Ian's. His hair is dark blonde, damp with sweat and blood, and he has a badge on. I assume he's an officer from the next town over, but I have no idea what he's doing in the woods.

"I said, stay back or I'll shoot." The guy cocks the gun at Ian, brandishing it fearlessly. "I gave you a final warning."

Ian says nothing. There is a cackle of static on the radio, then faint voices making no sense. Ian sways on his feet, looking mostly normal, except for the twist of his finger and the way his head moves back and forth. His hands are pale, the color of dull ash, and every so often, there's a shudder that runs through his body.

"I said, stay back. I know you can hear me!" The officer yells out again, and he tilts his head arrogantly. "I'll fucking shoot. I've had my fill of you corpses."

Ian lunges for him.

It's animalistic. He attacks like he's unafraid, and he's faster than expected. The man fires the gun several times, the click loud and empty, and my stomach sinks when nothing happens.

He's out of ammunition.

He swears loudly, tossing the gun aside, and he has no choice but to fight Ian himself. Their struggle is evenly matched, aside from Ian's lack of awareness and humanity. Ian claws and grunts, struggling to get close to the man's neck. There is a rough moment where he does get close, but the guy shoves him away violently, pushing him as hard as he can. Ian's head smacks into a tree, momentarily stunning him.

Then, just like that, he's fine.

He attacks again, even more violently, and the man's expression darkens when he figures out Ian isn't slowing down.

I have no choice but to help. I reach the two of them in seconds, and I raise Ian's own gun. It's heavy and warm, and I pray its loaded. Neither notice me until I yell Ian's name, and his head turns slowly. His grip is still on the guy's throat, and the man's eyes find mine, wide with surprise. Ian presses his head down, digging his fingers in.

"Ian, let him go. Ian…you're hurting him. Ian, stop!"

My words come out choppy and loud. The gun is heavy in my hands, and I fear I'm too shaky to hit him if I try.

I have little choice.

Ian rises, then turns back to snarl at the face beneath him. I aim the gun the best I can, trying to remember the few things Forrest told me about shooting, and the hunting lesson from years ago comes back. I steady my aim, and I squeeze the trigger right as Ian moves, and the officer screams for me not to shoot.

The bullet hits Ian in the neck. There's an explosion of gore, deep red blood and muscle, and it's enough to stop him. I aim again, shooting him in the head, and the man shoves Ian away and jumps to his feet.

His stare is wild.

In person, he's tall and intimidating, clearly fit and strong. He steps toward me, and thrusts his hand out when he's a few feet away.

"Give me the gun."

"No." I shake my head, stepping back and away, not willing to turn over the only weapon I have. "No, there are more of them."

"Yeah. A lot more," he agrees, and I notice he's younger than I was thinking. His jaw is sharp, his cheekbones are sharp, and his uniform would be sharp, were it not filthy. He towers over me, and the intimidation tactic works. I almost give in, but I don't let myself. "Do you know what they are?"

"No. Do you?" I have to crane my head to look up at him. The authority in him is natural; his badge reads Lieutenant Coulter, and his posture tells me he's not afraid to fight for what he wants. "Where do you work? Who are you?"

"Lakeview," he grits out, and there's a slight wince when he cocks his head. "More importantly, where did you get that? That's an officer issued weapon."

"I got it from Ian. He's a friend of ours. Or he was. He attacked me earlier but he stopped when he heard you." I try to stop shaking, because this guy could kill me just as easily as Ian could. "What are you doing out here?"

"Looking for someone." He eyes me warily. Lieutenant Coulter exhales heavily, and he scans the area before his stare returns to me and the radio cackles. "Shit, hold on. Linda, do you copy? Linda? Anyone? I need backup near Haling Cove. I need backup and possibly a medic."

Her response is impossible to make out. I catch something about him returning, followed by static.

We stare at each other.

His uniform is caked in dirt and lord knows what else. My own dress is covered in mud and blood, and my sweater isn't much better. Neither of us move, not even when there's a rush of birds taking off. The woods come alive for a few seconds, and the chirping sounds distressed.

"Why are you here? Why are you in the woods? Does Lakeview have these…these…" I don't know what to call them, but I also don't know if I really want to know what they are. "People."

"Zombies," he answers evenly, and his shrug is dismissive. "That's what our lab calls them. They aren't people anymore, not even the newly infected ones. I was sent this way to check on your town. We've been trying to contact them for days with no response. We previously sent two of our men, but they didn't return."

"Zombies," I repeat incredulously, because the idea is absurd. "Are you serious?"

He isn't impressed with me in any way. I can tell. He eyes me up and down, his lip curling in disgust at my dress, or maybe the blood splattered all over it, and he sneers. "Yes. Zombies. There's no other technical term for the undead the last time I checked, so that's what we're going with."

He turns and tries to radio Linda again, and I try to figure out if Ian was really the undead. I decide I can't handle that right now, and my best bet is to get out of the forest before the rest show up.

Lieutenant Coulter must be thinking the same thing.

He rips the radio off his uniform in pure frustration and throws it to the ground.

"Look, I don't have a lot of time. Give me the gun and go home. Lock your doors, lock your windows…" he steps even closer, so close his chest nearly touches mine, but I don't back down. "Stay inside. It'll be over soon. They're sending in –"

He gets cut off when there's a snap.

We both turn to look at the same time. We're deep in the woods, far enough that no one should be wandering this way without purpose. Just when I think maybe it's the wind, there's another crack, like a branch breaking, and from the depths of the woods, Landon emerges.

I hate that I feel an odd flash of relief at seeing him. He's dressed in his uniform, his hair is clean, and compared to this officer and me, he's put together. The feeling fades however, because up close, Landon is pale. His skin has a sheen to it, slick and almost slimy, and he grunts when his knee juts out to the side, rolling like it's not entirely attached.

I retreat before I can stop myself.

Lieutenant Coulter glances down, and angles himself to shield me, like Landon is a threat. He steps back with me and holds one hand up, taking in Landon's uniform. "Don't take another step. Sir, wait there. Are you with the Haling Cove police department? I'm looking for two officers. They went missing two days ago. Did anyone stop by?"

He pushes me back a step. I let him, because Landon looks strange. One hand scratches at his neck, and his head lolls to the side as he looks at me.

"Landon…what happened? What's wrong?" I call out to him as nicely as I can, but he doesn't slow down.

He walks the same way Hazel and Ian did, aimless and unstopping.

"Landon…"

"You know him?" Lieutenant Coulter steps further back towards me, and I'm half blocked by him. "Hey, hey stop. I'm here to meet with your chief. Max sent me. Station 1103." He gestures wildly, fully expecting Landon to listen. "I said stop. Are you deaf?"

Landon opens his mouth to snarl, and it's the same nightmare from before. A mash of blood and bone, of spit and whatever it was he was chewing before he came this way, and death. I see it in the weird, hazy gaze, and the way he lunges without any hesitation. There is no fear of death, because he's pretty much already there. Landon teeters somewhere between the two worlds –alive, but not quite so –until the officer punches him.

Lieutenant Coulter fights dirty, but he has no choice. I'm shoved back, and I stumble as the two of them engage. Landon is focused on biting him, on getting at any free inch of skin he can, any way he can. There is only a moment of struggle before I realize there is a chance Landon might win, simply because the officer is unarmed. Landon wrangles him to the ground, knocking his head into the officer's, and he pins him down by thrashing on top of him. Each swipe gets him closer, and he manages to rip apart a thick strip of fabric. There's a violent fit when the officer tries to kick him away, and Landon fixes this by standing up and stepping on his throat.

There's a gurgle of horror, and I have seconds to act.

I aim the gun again, and my fingers shake when I call Landon's name. It takes three times before he stops, but he does.

His eyes fix on me, clearing ever so slightly, and when he speaks, its strained. "You won't shoot me. I can't…I can't stop it. I can't –you need to get out of here. You need to run. I got bit. Got bit this morning. Ev…"

I don't run.

I can see Lieutenant Coulter fumbling to knock Landon away, but his face is turning a pale shade of blue. I aim the gun at Landon, shaking my head, and I try to conjure up a reason to let him live. Zombie or not, he's still Jerry's son, and there's a chance he'll be okay.

I can't think of a single one.

I shoot him in the head, with surprising accuracy. The bullet hits him off center, closer to one eye than the other, but it does the job. He crumples to the ground immediately, and before I can celebrate my win, Coulter is back on his feet. He's in front of me before I can ask if he's alright, and he tries to wrangle the gun from my hands.

"No!" I refuse again, trying to wiggle away. He's much larger and faster, and a second passes before he's got the gun out of my hands, and he clicks something. I give a huff of exasperation, and glare. "That's not yours. And I just saved your life. Twice. Give it back!"

"Absolutely not," he snarls, and I decide I don't like him. "You're a little too good with it."

He ignores my continued protest. He presses the release and he counts the remaining bullets with a swear. "Fuck. It's almost empty. Look, I have to get back. Your town is overrun with zombies and there are two bullets left. This won't last long. There's a swarm heading this way."

"A swarm," I repeat, and my voice cracks. "Then give it back. You have a gun. I don't. I don't have anyone. My family left me!"

"What?" He stares down at me, and I like him a little more because he looks insulted on my behalf. "Your family left you here? Alone? Are you serious? Do they know what's going on?"

"When I woke up, they were gone. They left a note and said they'd be back." I step closer and I reach for the gun. "So, give it back. Two bullets is more than enough to get me home. Please. I…I won't shoot you."

He considers this. Lieutenant Coulter chews on the side of his cheek while he thinks. He closes the minute gap between us, and when I think he's going to give me the gun back, he doesn't. He bends down and pulls a piece of something sticky off my sweater. I try not to grimace, because odds are, it's a chunk of someone else's skin.

"What's your name?

His fingers return to my sweater. He pulls up one side, then moves my hair off my neck. One warm hand press around the column of my throat, not threateningly, but it's not a reassuring feeling. He moves to the other side, and it dawns on me he's checking to make sure I haven't been bitten. His fingers linger there while he waits for an answer, and I know he's going to leave me behind.

Without a gun.

Alone.

In the woods.

"Everly." I look up at him carefully, trying to see if he's been bitten. There's a scrape on his cheek, a gash on the side of his neck, but no bite marks. "What's yours?"

He waits another beat. His fingers still, then he jerks them away like he's realized he's unmoving, and we're targets out here.

"Eric. Eric Coulter."

"Are you going to leave me? Can I please have the gun back?" I wait impatiently, figuring he might give it back if I don't ask for his help. My guess is he's going back to Lakeview, where he'll get another gun and have someone look at his neck. "Are you going back?"

"Yes." Eric's answer is sharp. "I have to get back tonight. We have officers missing and not enough to cover the next forty eight hours."

"Are all the towns like this?" I try to imagine more Hazels, lurching around with one arm. "Does every town have zombies?"

"I don't know. From what I've heard, yes," Eric answers, and he hesitates. "Where do you live? I'll take you there and you can grab some things. I'll bring you somewhere safe, but we don't have long. I'll stop at my station and you can figure out if anyone has seen your family. They might know something. They've been closing the roads, so if your family went north, they wouldn't have gotten through. They might not be allowed back."

"You're taking me with you?"

He nods.

The relief is overwhelming.

The thought of finding my family, seeing my mom and dad and brothers and sisters feels good, and I'm feeling far more optimistic than I was a few minutes ago.

"Just to the station. They'll be able to help you. I have shit to do."

I nod again, falling silent when he gestures for me to follow him. I look back only once at Landon, lying prone and motionless on the ground. Behind him, there's a dark sea of endless trees, each one taller and wider than the next. I stop for a second when something moves and the low hanging branches rustle .

I don't wait around to see what it is.

I walk faster, keeping up with Eric until we reach the clearing.


	2. Infection Level Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to Erin for editing!
> 
> Thanks to everyone giving this story a shot!! I think it'll be super fun, and I so appreciate everyone who read and reviewed. My goal is to update once a week, and depending on our schedules, I'll make it happen.
> 
> Have a super good weekend! 💙Enjoy the chapter!

The walk back is endless.

I try to stay close to Eric. While I know the area well, he goes farther west than I think he will. He shoves branches out of his way, kicks a few broken chunks of wood, and easily walks up the ravine. I follow less gracefully. A branch hits me in the face, I trip over the same chunk of wood he kicks away, and my shoes slip when I near the top. Eric is quick, though. It's almost like he was expecting my fall, because he turns and catches my arm before I slide all the way back down. His grip is tight, and he yanks me back up with a single, unimpressed stare.

"Come on. When we get to the car, sit in the front. If we get attacked, you'll be stuck if you're in the back. If anyone comes by, don't look at them until you're sure they're alive. Don't touch anything, either."

His orders are as serious as he is. He rakes his fingers through his hair once he catches his reflection in the car window, and exhales in sheer annoyance. I climb into the passenger side of the patrol car, wondering why he was over this way, but I don't ask.

I glance around, impressed by the interior.

I've never been inside a police car before, and this one is loaded with a surprising amount of technology. Several alerts flash on the screen, something beeps repeatedly, and a cell phone sits in the middle console. It vibrates with several alerts, and from what I can tell, they're all warnings telling people to stay inside and avoid the main roads.

Things must be escalating.

Once he's done fixing his hair, Eric throws the door open and sits down like he's over this day. He reaches over the computer mounted inside and pulls out a stack of papers. The radio beeps and crackles with a few more alerts, but he pays no mind to it. I listen to the codes coming in, but I have no idea what they mean. 3-156, route 3. 19-11, Highway 16. The last one makes me nervous –Z-89, routes 5 and 7 –but Eric doesn't even flinch. He flips through a few pages until he finds the one he wants, then looks over at me.

His profile is sharp. His stare isn't friendly, but it's more friendly than when Landon attacked him. "Name?"

"Everly."

"Your last name."

"Carlen."

"How tall are you?"

"Five…something." I wait a second, and he takes down my address, phone number, parent's names, and last time I saw them. I quickly tire with his list of questions, but it could also just be my nerves. I keep looking around, hoping to see someone I know, but the street is silent.

"Are you married?"

I look up at him like he's insane. He waits expectantly, and I shake my head no. He marks that box with a dark x, then side eyes me again.

"How old are you?"

"How old are you? Are you really a lieutenant?" I ask him, knowing I'm walking a fine line when his eyes narrow. He is an officer, and I should be respectful, but I know Landon had been working hard to get promoted, and Ian was hesitant to give anyone such authority. Maybe things are different in Lakeview, or it was easier to rise up through the ranks. "You look too young to be a lieutenant. We don't even have a lieutenant."

He throws me a dark look, which makes me nervous, considering I'm a mere foot away.

"I'm twenty-four, and yes, that is my rank. I took over after the last lieutenant was murdered. Don't ask me anything else." He glares at me out of the corner of his eye, continuing to fill out whatever report he'd decided was of dire urgency.

"Do you really have to fill that out now? Shouldn't we go?" I ignore his command not to talk to him, because I'm fully expecting Landon to come bursting through the woods. I have the strangest feeling we shouldn't just be sitting in this car, right out in the open. "What if he comes back?"

"He won't," Eric answers distractedly. He scrawls his name at the bottom, then looks at me. "Did you say Ian attacked you first?"

"Yeah. I saw him driving and thought he could help me. I said his name, but he didn't seem to recognize me. I ran away from him, but fell down the ravine." I toy with the edge of my sweater, hating the blood on it. "He attacked me there. I thought he would kill me, but he heard you yelling and he stopped."

"Did he bite you? Break the skin or draw blood by scratching?"

"No," I shake my head. "I scraped my knee and hit my side, but that's it."

"Okay." Eric makes a sound of mild approval, and I use my time to observe him. His haircut is severe and short, and the dirty blond color is darkened with blood and dirt. His uniform jacket is thick, just like Ian's, but his badge looks different. Every so often, the radio crackles with another code, and his eyes flick up to look at it. He frowns each time, especially when the last few attempts are nothing.

Only static, followed by heavy silence.

Eric reaches to shut it off, and one of his sleeves has dried blood on it. "I'll try them in a minute. You and I are heading to the local station here. I'm going to see if I can reach anyone before we swing by your house. I'm not continuing unarmed, and two bullets won't be enough to make it through the rest of the day."

"Is that all you have? Don't you have more?" I can't shake the feeling of horror running through me.

I assumed he'd have another gun somewhere, but Eric nods his head.

"I've been working since five. I've gone through everything I brought with me. Your town is reaching Lakeview levels of infection." Eric tosses the paperwork aside and turns the car on. He reaches behind me to rest his hand on the top of the seat, then backs the car up quickly. A second later, the siren turns on, and we head in the opposite direction I'd come from. "Have you seen anything else suspicious? Is anyone here in charge? Your mayor? Local representative? Fire? First response? Anyone?"

"Maybe Carole." I lean back, pulling my feet up beneath me. The dress I have on is splattered with all kinds of stuff; there's a splay of blood along the bottom, and dirt on the side. "Am I able to change? My dress has –"

"After the station. We'll stop by your house and grab a few things. Lakeview is a little over an hour away. I'll need you be ready to give them a statement, and hopefully, they'll have someone there to help further. Ian is your police captain, correct?"

"He's the sheriff."

I realize I have no clue about police rankings, only the human behind the uniform. Before turning into the living dead, Ian was a really nice man. He had a wife and son, was routinely seen at the park with them, and attended every barbeque he was invited to. He wasn't ever violent like the officers I saw on the news. He was mild mannered and patient, always willing to try and talk things through before resorting to calling for backup.

"What's Lakeview like? Is it nice?" I turn in the seat so I can watch Eric, and I decide I like him.

Sort of.

He mostly keeps his stare on the road, but every so often, he looks over at me. He's not that much older, but there's something impressive about the way he's unafraid of what's going on.

And how tall he is.

"Cold. Boring. Riddled with calls from old ladies not liking people walking through their yards. Those calls did taper off once the town became infected. Chicken virus, my ass. I can't believe anyone believes that load of shit."

His dry answer makes me smile, and for a brief moment, I can ignore the fact that my mother left me behind, Hazel had attacked me, and Ian and Landon were dead. Eric's words make everything feel okay, at least until we reach the police station.

He swears loudly, parking right in front.

There isn't a single other car in the parking lot, and the entire building is dark.

"Fuck."

I stare up at him, doing my best to stay out of his way, because Eric does not like the current state of our police department.

I don't blame him. Coming from Lakeview, he appears to understand our small town, but he didn't seem to think too highly of it. He asked me a few more questions about Ian, scowled when I said our police were very friendly, and rolled his eyes when I said we didn't have a ton of crime. He stopped rolling his eyes when he discovered the power was off, swore as he fumbled to find the breaker box, and exhaled sharply when we discovered the place is empty.

To be fair, Haling Cove has a very small police department.

The building sits near the school, quiet and unassuming. It's always open, one of the numerous receptionists is usually sitting in the front, and there's always someone dropping off baked goods for the officers. Ian's office is right in the front; it has his name by the door, and tacked beneath it is a picture his son drew.

That's about as far as I've ever been.

Today, I walk right in with Eric, past Ian's office and down the hallway. I learn our station has only a few jail cells, a couple of offices, a large breakroom, a locker room, and an armory, which Eric promptly raids. He breaks the door open with his shoulder, and his sigh tells me we don't have everything he's looking for.

"Here. Take this, and this one, and this one. The safety is on, or should be, so you can't shoot anyone." He pauses to look right at me, and our eyes meet in the middle of cold metal and steel. "Just hold onto them. If the need arises, I'll take care of it."

"I saved your life back there. You can trust me," I point out, but he ignores me. He hands me so many guns I almost can't hold them all, then casually turns and reaches for dozens of boxes of ammunition. "Are you taking all of it?"

"Yes." Eric answers flatly. "I'm assuming all of your officers are dead."

"What?" I nearly drop the guns. I back up into the now empty rack, and the fluorescent lighting above us buzzes. "Why would they be dead?"

"There's no one here. No one answering. No sign of anyone coming back, not even support staff."

"They could just be out responding to a call or…" I trail off, and Eric's eyes find mine.

"Did you miss the guy trying to bite your head off? Did you notice there were two of them, appearing within minutes of each other? They're fast. They're semi responsive and semi-intelligent. They have excellent hearing, an undying lust for blood, and the means to get it. Injuries that would normally slow someone down, or cause them to bleed out, aren't stopping them." Eric's concern is a mere flash on his face. "Stick by me unless you want to become one of them. I'll get you to Lakeview and they'll find your family. They'll have you stay there until they do, and the resources to help if they don't'."

"Do you think my parents are alive? Do you think my mom found my dad?"

The panic returns. It's a dizzying feeling, hot and sticky, and for the first time since my run in with Hazel, I start to wonder if I truly am alone. Maybe my mother didn't make it very far, or maybe she'd been bitten. Maybe my father had never made it back. I feel a wave of panic, so heavy I nearly drown in it, until Eric hands me another gun and the lights flicker.

"No, I don't."

I feel worse, so much worse, as he leads us out of the armory and back into the main building.

My house is empty.

The floors creak as I walk in, and Eric follows behind. Our ride over was quiet. Eric spent most of it trying to radio someone back in Lakeview, and each time it sounded like they were trying to answer. There was a final loud click when it did connect, but the voice was strained.

A woman asked his location, asked if he was injured, told him there was no backup, and his orders were to return to Lakeview immediately. He agreed. He informed her he was bringing back a survivor, and I sunk into the seat, feeling like I'd been shot.

The word survivor made me nervous.

He made no mention of finding my family. His response implied I was the last one alive, and he went on to announce my town had been infected and it wasn't looking good. The woman informed him there were no available officers, but she'd attempt to contact local authorities beyond the station. He clicked the radio off after giving her an estimated time of return of ninety minutes, and listened as I gave him directions to my house.

The rest of our time was silent. He parked in the driveway, and followed me up the porch steps.

I found myself afraid to go inside.

I lingered there until Eric told me I had ten minutes to grab my things. He raised an eyebrow when I realized I left the door unlocked, and another when we went inside. There were signs of my struggle with Hazel, and Eric zeroed in on them immediately.

"Were you attacked in here?" He crouches down to examine the floor where Hazel's skin remained, and he looks up at me with a funny stare. "Ian?"

"Hazel. She was oddly strong for only having one arm." I walk around him, noticing his stare turn unamused. "What? I'm going to wash the blood off my skin. Should I grab anything else?"

"Were you going to tell me there was another one? She only has one arm?" Eric rises up, and his head tilts. "What happened to Hazel?"

I pause on the second step. Eric is still taller than me, and he waits for my answer with a look of frustration.

"Spill it, Carlen."

"She…" I find it hard to explain, and maybe it's the way he said my name. I had expected him to say my first name, but he didn't. "I don't know. She was sick for a while and no one seemed to care. She just kind of walked up and down the street, and then one day she was missing an arm. I think she ate Carole's chickens, and she was in our backyard a few times, and this morning she was in the house. She came at me when I was leaving. When I saw Ian, I thought he'd help, but he was sick, too."

"So, three people, all infected, all tried to kill you. And you managed to fend them off and not get bit?"

I dare say he looks mildly impressed, but it quickly vanishes.

"Hurry and change. I'll radio this in, though it's doubtful anyone will answer. Is she still on the loose? How old is this girl?" Eric glances back at the blood, then at me. "Grab some clothes. They'll keep you there for a few days if they haven't found your parents. You'll need a jacket, any medications you take, toothbrush, things like that."

"Okay," I step up, and I glance past him, to the broken rail on the bannister. "She's a few years older than me. I don't know what happened to her arm, but it looked like it was ripped off at the shoulder. Ian talked to her once and tried to take her in, but she just wandered off. I don't think he knew what to do. She eventually went back into the woods."

"You're sure she only has one arm?"

"Yeah," I shrug, wondering why that was important now. Someone could have helped Hazel weeks ago, but she's beyond any sort of treatment now. "No one cared. I told my mom, but she didn't pay attention. I didn't see where the arm went."

"Okay…well, forget the arm and get your things." Eric ends our conversations with a nod. He heads into the kitchen, and I go upstairs and into my bedroom. It looks the same as it did this morning, and my stomach hurts when I see my bed still unmade. It seems like forever ago that I was getting ready. It feels like a weird dream, like this isn't really happening, and when I wake up, Zander will be jumping on my bed, and my mom will be making breakfast.

"Shit. Shit. Shit." I press my palms to my eyes, and I hear Eric in the kitchen. He turns on the sink, and I imagine he's washing the blood off his hands while he waits.

I work quickly.

I change out of my ruined dress, and into another one. I wash my arms and face, wipe the scrape on my knee off, and grab the first bag I can find. I cram as many dresses as I can into it. Pajamas. Underwear. A sweater, then another that's warmer. I throw in a hairbrush, my toothbrush, toothpaste, and the bodywash Holly liked to steal. A few more toiletries, since I'm not sure how accommodating the police station in Lakeview is, or where exactly I'll be staying. Right as I'm trying to decide on if I should bring another pair of shoes, there's the loud crack of a gunshot echoing through the house.

"No!"

My gasp is drowned out by a loud thud. There's an explosion of glass hitting the floor, and I nearly crash into Eric when I tear down the stairs and turn the corner. The sight before me is quickly becoming unfortunately familiar, but my stomach still tenses up like I'm about to throw up.

The smell is awful.

Eric stands there staring down Hazel, now really dead and unmoving, and he looks annoyed. He raises an eyebrow at me, and his lips press together.

"I thought you were lying about the arm."

"I wasn't!" His words make me laugh, but it's more of a hysterical gasp. Hazel is really dead, splayed out and spilling blood everywhere, and she has even less of her one arm. Her hair is so dark it looks black, and whatever she has on is filthy. All around her is the glass from the mirror, and it reflects the warped image of her grey skin.

"Where did she come from?" I realize I'm leaning into Eric, off balance and panicky, and he notices.

He shoves me away from him but takes hold of my arm and takes the bag from my hands. "She came in from the backyard. Here, I found this under the sink. We'll take it with us."

He hands me our family's ancient first aid kit, and I hope he knows there's no real medicine in there. It contains some Paw Patrol band aids, a spray Zander screamed when you used because it stung, and maybe some gauze. If he was lucky, some expired Advil or Tylenol. We only had it because my father insisted my mother have actual medicine on hand, though she rarely reached for it.

I hold onto the kit tightly, feeling my sanity slip as he leaves me to opens the refrigerator. Eric pulls out two water bottles, then a third. He surveys the area once more, then looks at me.

"I think we should go. The longer we stay here, the higher the risk of someone else showing up." Eric takes hold of my arm again, gentler this time, and he pulls me away from the kitchen. "We'll get some lunch along the way. You should eat something. It'll make you feel better."

"Now?" I look up at his face, having a hard time seeing Hazel dead in the kitchen where I helped make dinner most nights. I glance around at everything in my family's home, and nothing makes sense. The backdoor is wide open, the gate between our house and Carole's is ajar, and the faint breeze whipping through makes me want to scream.

"Yes."

"Wait, I should leave a note."

I shrug away from Eric's grasp. I step around Haze's body, and everything turns dreamlike. I find some paper in the drawer, a sparkly pink pen Holly often wrote her grocery demands with, and I write quickly. My fingers shake as I explain that if my family comes back and I am not here, that I have gone to find them and will be in Lakeview. I write a quick apology about Hazel, wondering if maybe we should move her, but I know there's no time.

I finish the note while Eric waits, and the clench of his jaw tells me he thinks we should have left already.

"Are you done here?" Eric's eyes follow my every move, piercing and intense. He's unaffected by what's happened, at least as far as I can tell. "We have to go. Now."

"Do you think they'll come back?" I set the note on the table, and I don't know why I'm asking him. It's not like he knows my family or where they are. But the world seems to be falling apart around me, and he appears unflappable.

He's also made it very clear he doesn't think my mother got very far.

"No, I don't. You're welcome to stay here and wait for them, but odds are, you'll run into someone else infected. Your best bet is to come with me." His stare holds mine. "We'll keep an eye out for them along the way. There's a chance we'll see them while driving."

I waver back and forth, but not really.

Staying here meant boarding up the house, holing up inside it, and praying no one got in. It meant sitting with two single bullets, if Eric was even willing to turn the gun over, whatever food is in the house, and biding my time until help arrived, or the zombies took over.

Eric's gaze bores into mine, and it's an easy decision.

"I'm going with you," I answer, and I follow him out of the house, pausing to grab my purse along the way. I get back into the patrol car, taking the same seat as before, and I look back at the house only once. The view is warped, strange and tinted through the patrol car window, but I pretend this is fine, just fine, and not in any way out of the ordinary.

I focus on that feeling as Eric drives away, and I swear I see Carole's face peering out from her window, yelling my name and waving her arms frantically.

Haling Cove is pure chaos.

I watch from the safety of the passenger seat, blinking as it descends into a level of hell I've seen only in movies. Eric drives out of my neighborhood quickly, avoiding a few people running and screaming, and their pleas for help. His acknowledgment of them is subtle enough I nearly miss it. I know he's probably taken some oath about helping citizens no matter where he is, but he doesn't stop. If anything, he drives a little faster, until we reach the main street.

There are people everywhere.

It's hard to think of them as people, because most look a lot like Hazel. Dull stares, eyes moving around in every direction, mouths agape, and limbs in various states of decay. There are several with bones snapped in half, broken hands, and cracked, peeling skulls. A few look coherent, but it's a gamble if they're infected or just stumbling out of the local dive bar. I lean away when one man gets close to the car, his good eye roving over us as Eric slowed down to turn, and he seems to look right at me.

Chunks of his head are missing. His jaw hangs crookedly, giving him an evil looking grin.

He waves.

"How he is alive?" I scoot away from the window, watching the guy lurch at the car. He's slow moving, but he's missing half his knee and I imagine it's the only reason he's not jumping at us.

"You're fine. He can't get in. I'm not even sure he's really looking at you." Eric's comment is jarring. I look over as he turns the corner onto a street of shops and he shrugs. "Maybe they can see. I don't know. Jason said they can still see and hear, but he says a lot of things."

"Who's Jason?" I glance away, wishing things were different over here.

Some of my favorite stores are down here, including the ice cream shop and Melly's coffee bar. The street is normally vibrant and full of people walking around, but today, it's full of the undead, lurching and clawing their way down the street. Storefronts are broken and damaged, windows are smashed in, and there are streaks of blood everywhere. The large fountain in the middle of the square has someone in it, or at least what's left of them.

It's mind blowing to think this has been happening all while I was at home.

"I work with him. He's one of the officers who went missing. Him and…" Eric pauses, and this time, the radio turns itself on. It's so loud I jump, and Eric turns it off completely.

"Is he your friend?" I ask, trying to distract myself, because another head emerges from the water, gnashing its teeth at the zombie beside it.

"Yes."

Eric's answer is short and sharp, and it's easy to see he doesn't want to talk. We lapse into silence, and I welcome it, because the farther we drive, the worse it gets. There are piles of bodies everywhere; some have fought until the very end, others looking like they'd given up almost immediately. One sidewalk is awash with blood, the cement stained and weeping, and a lone hand lies a few feet away, a shiny bracelet still attached.

I eventually close my eyes, and the exhaustion of the day wins out.

I fall asleep right as we pass the empty church, and I don't wake up until I hear the sirens.

"We're here."

Eric's voice is sharp.

I blink my eyes a few times, lifting my head off the door and wincing at the dull ache from the awkward position. There's a flash of unease at having fallen asleep in the car with him, but I don't have too long to think about it.

Lakeview explodes around me. The town is rich in greenery and trees, each one thicker and wider than the next, and it all surrounds an immense, glittering lake. There are plenty of picturesque stores and shops on one side, but most of the buildings are newer and more modern looking. The homes are set back, similar to the ones in Haling Cove, but with grand facades and large gates. Some are less impressive, but still larger than the ones on my street.

There are fire trucks here, rushing past us in the opposite direction, with their lights flashing and sirens blaring.

Eric is quiet. He drives faster, and it's clear this route is routine for him.

It only takes a couple of minutes to see where we're going. The police station sits at the very base of the town, near one of the lake's open beaches. It's hard to miss. Made of glass and steel, rising up high into the sky, the design proves to be a poor choice given the state of the world.

The outside is caked with blood.

There are several red streaked sections with long spiderweb like cracks creeping upwards, and several bullet marks. There are dozens of police cars here, ranging from SUVS and trucks, to the normal patrol cars, all lined up haphazardly.

I don't feel the sense of relief I was expecting, but instead, a sense of deja vu.

Eric must feel the same.

He parks the car near the front, but he doesn't make any move to get out. Instead, he reaches for a gun, checks to make sure it's loaded, and looks at me out of the corner of his eye.

"What?" I look back and him, and I fumble for the door handle. "This is your station, right? Is anyone here?"

"Yeah, look, before we go inside…" he pauses, and his hesitation makes his jaw look even sharper. "While you were sleeping, I tried to radio confirmation of my arrival. There was no answer. Linda should be here, but no one responded. I tried the station in the town over, thinking maybe they'd answer, but got no one. The only connection I could get was with Williams, and it's a good three hours from here."

My fingers still on the cold metal. "You think –"

"I don't know what to think. My hope is they're all out and Linda is busy, but my guess is most aren't coming back. So, we're going to get in and get out. There should be plans on Max's desk documenting a safe zone and the coordinates. I need you to stick with me and not do anything stupid. You get bit, you're on your own." Eric's commands are crystal clear, but even I can see his not happy with how this is turning out. "Max didn't answer, either. My guess is something has happened inside."

"Was it like this when you left?" I slide out of the car, and Eric shakes his head.

"Not this bad." He walks around to join me, and his stride is arrogant. So is his sneer when he points to the side of the building, where a car has smashed right into the side. It lies tipped over, smoking and burning, with no one in sight. "When I left, things were orderly. My officers don't fuck around."

I don't have a good response for him, so I follow along silently. He leads me inside the front doors, and a few pieces of loose glass rain down upon us as we walk in. His boots crunch over the larger pieces, and I stick close behind him. My head only comes up to the middle of his back, but it's a good thing.

Eric makes an impressive shield. There is a snarl coming from a few feet ahead, but I can't see anything other than blood splattered walls and paperwork strewn onto the ground. The air is tense, like back in my hometown's station, and thick with anticipation. The snarl grows louder when Eric stops walking, and he takes a step backward. My head hits his back, but he doesn't notice.

He hesitates for a split second, then backs up again.

"Linda, what happened here? Did someone get inside? Did something happen? Can you tell me where everyone is?"

Linda doesn't answer.

My guess is she's the one snarling, because Eric reaches for the gun on his hip and asks again if she's alright.

She's not.

"Linda, stay right there. Can you tell me if Max is here?" He keeps talking to her like she's fine, but he raises his arm, and aims the weapon. I peek around just enough to see who he's talking to.

It's not a reassuring sight. Linda doesn't look as bad as the others, but her skin holds the same sallow tone Landon's had, and her posture makes it look like her spine has been broken. She reminds me of one of the grandmas who occasionally would stop and coo over Zander, except her teeth grind together every time she closes her mouth, and her eyes are cloudy.

"Um, she's…I think she's infected," I whisper, well aware that my observation is not at all helpful.

Eric turns around like he's forgotten I'm behind him, and I'm still so close that I could reach out and grasp onto the fabric of his jacket. I don't. I stop breathing when he cocks the gun, and a second later, Linda's head jerks back. It doesn't explode like I'm thinking, but blood pours from the wound immediately. The bang echoes in my ears as she sinks to the ground gracelessly, and Eric sighs.

"Carlen, back the fuck up. She's not going to get you."

"You said stay close by," I reluctantly step to stand by his side, and I survey Linda as though I was the one to take her out. She lies unmoving, but every so often, there's a gurgle of blood leaking from her mouth. "Besides, I don't have a gun. You took all of them."

"Yeah, well I'd prefer not to get shot. You have suspiciously good aim, and I'm not taking any risks," Eric answers, and he gestures for me to follow him. "Come on. Max's office is in the back. If he's in there, I'll make sure he's…alive."

"Is Max your police chief?" I walk alongside Eric, though I have no clue where I'm going. The Lakeview police station is way more impressive than ours. We pass through rows of desks and down a hallway lined with plaques. I linger to read a few, noticing Eric's name is on more than a dozen, and there's another Coulter. Daniel's name is on more awards than Eric's, and each one sounds more prestigious than the other. "Is he in charge?"

"Max is our captain. He's been overseeing our station, plus a neighboring station for a few weeks. We've been helping out a few neighboring towns since this shit started." Eric stops in front of a large office door, and he waits for me to catch up. "He sent me to Haling Cove. I was there on his orders."

I watch with wide eyes as he opens the office door.

It creaks loudly, but ultimately, it's a letdown. There's nothing but darkness inside, and Eric waits a moment before reaching in and flicking the flights on. The florescent lights reveal Max's desk is covered in manilla file folders, stacks of papers, and empty fast-food wrappers. There's a large map behind the desk with pins stuck all over, and an open laptop on the desk. Eric walks around the desk and immediately begins tapping away at the keyboard. With a grunt of frustration, he nudges it aside, and begins to rifle through the paperwork, seemingly ignoring the soft thud coming from the hallway. I hear it again, heavy and slow, and it makes me nervous.

"Is he here?" I chew on my lip while I wait, and something pricks at the back of my neck. "Do you think he…um….do you think he's…."

"Do I think he's what?" Eric demands. He looks up once, and his stare holds minimal concern. "Carlen, did you hear me? What's wrong? Is someone there?"

I step back.

I move slowly, staring at the man a few feet away, and my fingers fumble against the wall. Unfortunately for me, there is nothing to hold onto. I step back again as the man comes closer, and I take a wild guess that this must be Max.

"Eric –"

He lunges.

Both Eric and Max, though Max has the advantage of being only a few feet away. He moves easily, his dark skin a blur as his hands grab my neck, and I'm knocked back into the wall of awards. They fall down with a surprising amount of force, clattering at my feet as I try to wrench myself free from his grip. His fingers are cold; chilly, but strong, and he only startles when Eric yells his name. It's enough for me to run, a lousy plan since I have no gun or weapon of any sort, and a failure. Max grabs me by the hair, and I'm yanked back, right into his soft, almost squishy chest.

The smell is overpowering.

I dry heave as I trip over my own feet, but manage to elbow him as hard as I can. His hands claw at my hair, less clumsy and a little too controlled, but luckily, Eric has great timing.

The bullet hits Max in the head the very moment I stumble. My shoes are slippery on the concrete and have zero traction when his blood spills everywhere. It falls to the ground in dark bursts, richer and stickier than I would imagine, and I only stay upright because Eric is right there.

He grabs onto me, pulling me away from Max with far more force than necessary, and I barely gasp out a thank you before he shoots Max again.

This time, he makes sure the bullet goes right through his boss's temple, and when he's not sure it's enough, he shoots him again.

I decide I do not like the zombies.

I stand in front of a large counter, doing my best to stop shaking. My breathing is choppy, bordering on hyperventilating, and I try to explain to Eric that by the time I saw Max, it was too late to do anything but try and run.

He's not listening.

He's busy rifling through the lockers, slamming them shut when he doesn't find what he's looking for. He asks me a few questions, but I can barely answer him. His voice rings in my ears, until the sound is so loud, I jump when he says my name.

In all fairness, this day is starting to wear on me. I'm not a trained police officer, nor are zombies my thing. While I liked watching scary movies with Leif and Wesley, the undead wasn't anything I ever picked out. I found their lack of a soul disturbing, and the way they turned on family and friends made my stomach flip over. Their appearance in the movies is disturbing enough, but the ones in real life are horrifying.

If I close my eyes, I can still feel Max's hands on my neck. They were cold, lifeless but strong, and smelled like rotten flesh.

I jump again when hands find my waist. I wince when they hit a sore spot, whirling around expecting to see Max or Linda again, but it's Eric. He picks me up before I can ask what he's doing and sets me on the counter. To my left is a large box marked uniforms, and to my right is someone's laundry. Eric looks at my face once, then moves me back further and grabs my foot.

His actions are easy. There is no hesitation in his posture, only an impatience to get going.

"Explain to me," he pauses, yanking the shoe off and tossing it aside without looking. "what went through your mind when you chose your outfit for today. There are zombies everywhere. Every person I know is being turned into a mindless, dead eyed corpse, and you're dressed like you're heading out for tea."

"I didn't know I'd run into more of them," I answer slowly, too stunned to do anything but watch him. I would protest that he's thrown my favorite shoes into the middle of the room, but they're ruined. They're covered in blood and guts –some mine, most not –and definitely not sturdy enough to be running around in. "I thought I was going to find my family."

"You are. But I can't get you there if you're dead."

Eric is a smart guy.

He shoves a pair of socks at me, and steps to the side while I put them on. He rummages through a few lockers that are open, swearing at the few that are closed, but eventually, he's triumphant. He returns with a pair of boots in his hands, and my brain is a second too slow when I realize they are for me. He roughly helps me put them on, and it's obvious they're for his benefit as well.

They're close enough to my size. They are awkward and heavy, but warm.

"Here. These will help. They'll be easier to run in if you need to." He bends down to tighten the laces. He's focused on his work, and I stare at his head while he ties them for me. When he straightens himself up, Eric frowns at my dress again, and gestures for me to stay put. "Don't move. I'll be right back."

I take his orders seriously. I have no desire to leap off this counter and wander anywhere. The hallway we'd walked down was eerily silent, and the offices were all dark. With my luck, the second I jumped down, another zombie would appear.

The thought of them is terrifying on every level. I'm learning they can hear and see, most are fairly fast, and their rotten and decayed bodies don't slow them down the way one would hope. As much as I hate knowing all this, I feel like it'll come in handy.

Mostly because I have the sinking feeling there is no one here to help me.

"So, um, you said someone would take me somewhere? To find my parents?" I fix one of the laces on the boots, and I have to admit, they are far sturdier than my shoes. They're part of someone's uniform, but I don't think they're coming back. "What about –"

"There's no one here," Eric interrupts. "Linda was my point of contact. She'd been working for the past two days, and she was supposed to be here until my shift ended tonight. Max must have been bitten sometime today, or maybe last night. The woman who runs the program taking in missing persons or vulnerable citizens is not here, either."

He hands me a jacket.

It's thick and dark, similar to the one he has on, and his smile is unfriendly.

"It's supposed to be cold tonight. We'll drive north to Williams. There's a chance they're still operating, but they aren't answering any incoming calls. According to the paperwork, there are six safe zones set up, and the sooner we get to one, the better." Eric's stare holds mine, and I notice his eyes are a light grey. "I can leave you here at one of the motels, if you'd prefer to stay. I can make sure you have enough food and water for a few days, and I'll leave behind a number for Lauren in case she does return. If not, you can take a patrol car back to Haling. Can you drive?"

I stare at him, unable to answer.

There is exhaustion creeping into his expression, but he doesn't let it last for very long. Still, it's impossible to miss the way he leans forward, the way his eyes look heavy, and the way his hair falls to the side instead of being slicked back.

"Carlen, can you drive? I'll leave you the keys. This town's about to –"

"My name is Everly." I stare back at him, panic choking at my throat. "You're really going to leave me here, aren't you? You're going to leave me with all of these…these…."

I can't finish my sentence.

The boots and jacket make sense now. He's preparing to leave me behind, just like my family, and this way, he can feel good about making sure I had enough going for me that he won't have to feel guilty. My chest burns at the realization that he will be gone, and I will be here alone, in an unfamiliar town, with the option to drive a patrol car back to Haling and the risk of trying to make it all the way back to my house.

The reality is, he has no real responsibility to me. If anything, I'm a liability to him, even though I could have let Landon bite him.

"You're leaving me here and –"

"No," Eric interrupts, shaking his head. His hands move to fix the collar on the jacket, and he yanks it into place. "Listen, I don't even know you, but I'm taking you with me. Staying behind is an option if you don't want to go. It's unlikely I'll be able to locate your family. If you come with me, you'll be going further away from Haling Cove, and I'm not sure when I'll be able to bring you back. If at all. When I get to the safe zone, I'll be put to work. I won't be able to turn around and drive you back home."

"So, if I go with you, we're going –"

"To one of the safe zones, yes. If they're still standing." Eric pauses, and his fingers are warm against my neck. Max's were cold, like he'd been sitting dead for a few hours and all the life was long gone by the time I saw him. "I'm going to find my friends, but I'll get you somewhere safe. They're set up to help any survivors."

"Are you sure they really exist?" I ask, and I have the craziest feeling every town is the same as Haling Cove and Lakeview. "Are you sure there are people there?"

The urge to throw up is strong. My day has gone from thinking I'd have my friends over for dinner, to fighting off Ian and Landon, and to now learning my only chance at likely survival is to tag along with a guy I barely know.

"I'm not. I'll keep calling until I get an answer, but the map has six locations that went up the minute the outbreak started. Odds are, one of them is active. It's just a matter of getting there alive. No matter which one I try, it'll take some time to get there. Now, do you want to go, or do you want to stay?"

He waits for my answer, his patience thin and temporary, but he doesn't move.

Maybe he's trying not to startle me, or perhaps he's not worried Linda or Max could come back to life, but Eric makes no move to hurry my decision. He goes back to adjusting the jacket collar, and I dare say there's a connection to him that I can't place.

It's even stronger when he pushes my hair back off my cheek to make sure there's no bite mark.

"You have to tell me what you want me to do. Stay here, and see if anyone returns, or come with me. If you stay behind, I'll leave you a gun and enough bullets to get you home."

"And if I go with you?" I crane my head up to look at him, and he smirks.

Eric Coulter, police lieutenant and zombie killer extraordinaire, has the audacity to find my question amusing.

"You can hold the box of bullets."

I scowl at him before I can stop myself, but it doesn't matter.

Eric helps me slide down off the counter, his hands staying on my waist even after I hit the floor. We both know my decision isn't to stay in Lakeview any longer than absolutely necessary, and it's a smart one.

Eric shuts the door to the locker room as we walk out, and we both walk a little faster when we hear the faint, heavy shuffling coming from one of the offices.

The zombie apocalypse is hardly the way I saw the world ending.

Eric and I leave Lakeview with the mutual desire to stay alive, a few more guns than we came with, and the awareness that zombies are lurking around every corner.

Neither Max nor Linda come back to life, but Eric doesn't stick around to see if that is going to change. He does pause by Linda's desk to grab something. He takes papers with notes written on them, then tells me to grab the phone and charger on her desk. He takes other things with no real meaning to me –some gum, a few matchbooks, a set of keys, and a picture. I look at him curiously, but he waves me off.

Our moment from earlier is gone.

Eric announces we're leaving, and I walk carefully around the splash of blood and guts. These boots are way better than my shoes, and there's a weird sense of feeling like I have armor on. I get why Eric likes them, even if they do clash with my dress.

The lights start to flicker right as we make it outside. I turn to ask Eric if he'll consider giving me one gun, even just with a few bullets, when the whole world explodes.

The ground shakes and pieces of metal and debris fly through the air. I crash into Eric, and after steadying me, we both take off running, and he pushes me ahead of him. When we're far enough away, I look around, swearing the explosion came from right next to us. To my surprise, it's not. In the distance, a large tower bursts into flames, and the sky above it is immediate black with smoke.

"It's the power plant," Eric informs me, unenthused and visibly annoyed. "We should get out of here before the whole town catches fire."

"Do you live here?" I follow him to the car, and to my surprise, it's unlocked. "Are you stopping at your…house?"

"I don't think we'll have time." Eric eyes the sky warily, "I have a bag packed for emergencies. If we leave now, we can make it to Williams before it gets dark. We'll stop along the way where it's less…"

He pauses, and behind us, the power plants crumbles. It collapses with a groan of metal and smoke, and the air turns thick and impossible to breathe.

"Come on."

Eric touches my elbow, and there is no hesitation in following him.

We get back in the car, and behind us, Lakeview descends into the same chaos of Haling Cove.

The scenery is a blur.

The road Eric takes cuts through the woods. It slices between heavy rows of trees, banking and twisting up the mountain. In a lot of ways, Lakeview reminds me of my own town. There are a few homes along the way, expensive and expansive, and but it's not long before there is nothing but trees, the horizon, and silence.

I have plenty of time to think about my family, and the feeling of disappointment at being left behind rises up again. Though my mother had seemingly good reasoning –she planned on being home by dark, and she knew I didn't want to spend hours stuck with my brothers and sisters –it still stings. At any point on her way to get my father, she would have to have realized what is going on. She could have turned around, called home, or tried to get ahold of someone. Even Carole would have answered her phone and come over to tell me to stay inside.

Instead, I am here.

Speeding along a highway, with an officer I've just met, while he tries to radio the city we're heading towards. His patrol car is safe and fast, but the lack of communication makes me nervous. He tries several times once we reach a higher point on the mountain pass, but no one answers. The radio is either silence or loud static. I jump when he nears the top, and his phone rings shrilly.

Eric pulls over at a scenic look out point, and I use the opportunity to stretch my legs. We haven't been driving more than two hours, but it's a nice break. I use the restroom in a creepy, deserted state-run facility that begs for someone to commit murder inside its cement walls, and when I return, he's on the phone, scowling into the abyss.

I wander close to the edge, peering down while he snaps at someone to tell him if Jason is there or not. I watch him rub the back of his neck, furious over their lack of answers, and it gives me a chance to really look at him.

In our short time together, I've learned a few things about him.

One, his patience is minimal.

Two, he's sort of handsome, if you took away the pissed off look on his face and fixed his hair into something less police-like.

And three, he's probably the only person around who isn't afraid of the zombies.

There's a lot of appeal in my last conclusion, because no one else is jumping to get rid of them. Eric is the first person, other than Carole, who isn't afraid of getting his hands dirty. I doubt his training included having to deal with the undead, but he's unfazed by them, even his own boss. His main concern seems to be finding his fellow officers, through it's obvious their mysterious disappearance bugs him.

When I look back at him, his voice sharp and unhappy as he demands –again –to know if anyone from his station is there, he's frowning at me. He steps toward me and yanks me back away from the railing like he fully expects me to fall right over it.

There's some mild romance to him saving my life, but it wanes when he darkly informs me if I fall to my death, he's not going after me.

"Are you sure? Jason. Jason…" Eric pauses until I get closer to him, and I listen while he exhales heavily. "Williams is shut down? I was just told it was active. What about Harrison? Has anyone heard from him?"

I listen to the person answering him, and it's weird to hear another voice. I decide it's where we are. The lookout point is secluded. It's cold up here, and the air is so sharp that it burns when it hits my skin. The view is stunning, but a harsh reminder that Eric and I are alone, and the steep drop will end my life much faster than a zombie bite. I stare out at the lush valley of treetops until I hear Eric finish his conversation.

"Alright. Will you call if anything changes? I'll need to know if any of them are up and running. Radio if you see Jason, or even Karl."

The voice on the other end agrees, but they don't sound optimistic. I try to listen without looking like I'm eavesdropping. Eric's words feel important for reasons I don't know, and his tone hints this isn't going the way he thought it would go.

Nothing is.

I would give anything to have a few hours of normalcy, which is laughable considering this doesn't seem like it's going away any time soon. I look up when Eric snaps a goodbye, and he stops next to me with a dark expression.

I know it's bad news before he speaks.

"Williams hasn't had any active communication in the last four hours. I just talked to someone in Greenpointe. We can head that way, but it's a couple of days drive to get there. The woman I spoke with isn't sure what's going on or why, but verified they've sent what officers they can out that way. They've had trouble reaching the contacts for each safe zone. They're supposed to be run by the military, but they've been pulled in other directions."

"The military?" I freeze when Eric's arm touches mine. He stands beside me, gazing out at the same spot I am, but his mouth is tense. "Do they know what's going on?"

"Yes."

His answer is annoyed, but not at me.

"Jason thinks the zombies are a failed military experiment. They set up safe zones the day the outbreaks started, and he found the timing suspicious," Eric pauses, and I feel him looking at me. "He went missing trying to locate one of their researchers. One we believed to have driven through Haling Cove to warn your sheriff."

"What do you think?" I keep my gaze on the tallest portion of the valley, because I've figured out Eric will talk, but he'll talk more if I'm not looking at him. "Do you think your friend is alive?"

"I'm sure he's fine. He's well prepared. Harrison trained us for this, so he should live."

"Someone…trained you for a zombie apocalypse?" This time, I do look at him. He cracks the barest of grins, so slight it's a mere second of his lips turning up, then it's gone. "Are you serious?"

"Yes. More importantly, we should get back on the road. I was informed there's a hotel and diner a few hours away. Some are being forced to stay open so search and rescue aren't stuck camping in the woods and starving," Eric answers, but he's distracted. He hits my arm with his, and glances back at the patrol car. "You sure you're up for this? There's no guarantee of seeing your family. You'll be states away by the time you could potentially know if they're alive."

"If I say no, are you going to take me all the back to Haling?" I look right at him, and he shakes his head no. We're both well aware Haling Cove is hours away now and taking me home would set him back a day. "I told you, I'm going wherever you go. The last thing I want is to be stuck inside when Carole comes crashing through the walls to kill me."

"She sounds fun. Are you sure she hasn't been a zombie all along?" Eric snickers, and it's a rare moment for him. His expression immediately turns serious, and he announces we're leaving. "You lead the way, Carlen. I want to get to the other side of the mountain before it gets dark."

"Are you going to call me that forever?" I catch his eye as we walk, and the jerk looks smug when he shakes his head no. "Because you know my name. It's Everly."

"Yes." Eric pushes me ahead, and he points to the passenger door. "Do me a favor and try not to fall asleep this time. I need you to stay awake."

"Why?" I get back into the car, watching as Eric walks around to the driver's side. He turns the engine on while looking over his shoulder, and his frown makes me nervous. "Eric?"

He locks the car doors.

He takes off before I can buckle my seatbelt, and I glance around nervously. There doesn't appear to be anyone driving this way, but maybe he saw something I didn't.

"Just…. stay awake. Got it?" Eric looks over at me, and he waits until I nod. "Good."

He doesn't drive off until I've buckled my seatbelt, and we lapse into easy silence.

I listen to the radio, and every so often, someone's voice does come through.

It sounds anything but human.

There's snarling and snapping, a ripping sound the makes my heart speed up, and a scream so deep and desperate it makes me wince.

Eric reaches over and he fumbles with the dial. Every channel he finds is the same –shrieks and moans, a few swear words, and no one answering anything he says. One channel is extra loud, a guy frantically begging for someone to call in backup, but he doesn't respond when Eric asks where he is.

We reach the very top of the mountain as the man yells again, and this time, Eric turns the radio off completely.


	3. Black Mountain Inn, Code Zero

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you oh so much for reading and reviewing! I'm so happy you guys are enjoying the story. I missed writing Eric and Everly a ton, and this has been a fun way to jump back in. I loved reading all your thoughts, and I'm happy most like the idea. I have one other story planned after this if Erin will agree lol, so we'll see. 
> 
> To answer some of the questions, yes, we are going to see a bunch of familiar faces, and I promise not all are zombies. Everything is eventually explained, and this story has tons of Easter Eggs from The Training. If you are new to my writing, I highly recommend starting with The Training, or a few of the characters will not make sense. You can definitely read this one alone, but some of the inside jokes and moments will make more sense if you ready the original story. 
> 
> Have a really good weekend! 💚

"It says here, you should always shoot them in the head, twice. Once to kill them, then a second time to make sure they're really dead. It also says, you can only be infected if they bite you, but if they scratch you and draw blood, then you should…cut your arm off. Or where they scratched you."

I look up from Eric's phone as he looks over at me, as much as one can while driving.

"Is that what happened to Hazel?" He returns to looking straight ahead and slows down as our descent down the mountain begins. The road ahead is winding, and on Eric's side, there is a sharp drop, protected only by a flimsy looking railing.

"Maybe."

I keep scrolling down the page I'm reading, impressed he even has a signal out here.

A few minutes ago, Eric gave me his phone and told me to look something up. I took it gingerly, my fingers touching his for a split second, then typed in the site he requested. I was impressed when an entire blog appeared on the screen, with all kinds of pictures and links. At first glance, I assumed it was a government site, but I quickly figured it wasn't.

It was Jason's.

The picture of him is at the very top. It's him beaming as he stands in the middle of a desert, documenting his quest to find extraterrestrial life. I'm surprised to find he has long, red hair, is taller and skinnier than I imagined, and is dressed like he's going skateboarding. In the pictures, he's posed in front of large, graffiti covered domes, all crumbling and looking ready to collapse. His bio on the bottom of the page explains he's been researching all sorts of paranormal activity for years: everything from aliens abducting people out of their homes, military cover ups in area 51, to zombies.

He actually has quite a few pages about zombies, and they're linked to his latest post at the very top of the page with a warning to read carefully, and alert local authorities if you think you've seen one.

"Did you…" I pause as the road dips down enough to make my stomach drop. "Did you hunt aliens with him? It says he and his friends often went on trips to areas with high reports of activity?"

I glance at Eric, noticing he looks like he's struggling to keep a neutral expression, and I decide he has been alien hunting.

"Did you ever find any?"

"I never went!" He shoots me a dirty look, and points at the phone. "You're supposed to be looking at the zombie page. See if he's updated anything. If he has, then I know he's alive."

"The last update was four days ago." I go back to the zombie page, grimacing at the facts Jason has listed. He seems knowledgeable enough about them, but I don't know how he would know all this. "Or the last post was updated then. Where was he when you last talked to him?"

"On his way to Haling Cove. He was sent to look for some researcher who went missing. We lost contact the day before and Jason was assigned there. Max assumed he'd gotten stuck helping out your police, so he sent me, even though we really didn't have enough officers." Eric exhales heavily, and I feel a flash of discomfort, since my assumption is that Jason is dead. "There's nothing new? Are you sure? A post, or link, or anything?"

"His last post is a list of weapons commonly used to kill zombies, and that was posted on the same day," I answer slowly, pulling my feet up beneath me and skimming his post. It's well written, and had I found it on my own, I would believe Jason hunted zombies on the regular. "Swords, hatchets, knives, homemade explosives. Surprisingly, he's listed the gun last."

"Of course, he did." Eric sighs. "Only Jason would put the most practical weapon last. I guess it's more fun to nearly die by trying to stab one of them."

I can't help but smile at the look on his face. He looks like he's counting to a high number, and I use the opportunity to look at his phone. I click out of the website and onto his home screen, and his list of apps is incredibly boring. Mostly icons for work, his messages, and at the very bottom, one for photos. Before I can click on that one, he yanks the phone out of my hands and glares.

"I meant to ask, the whole family really went to find your dad? Except for you?"

"All of them," I sink back against the seat, and outside, the trees blur by. "My dad works out of town, and I guess he called to say he was coming home. Then suddenly, my mom was going to meet him. She took my brothers and sisters but left a note saying she didn't want to wake me up. Only one of my brothers didn't go, but he's been gone a few months."

"How many siblings do you have?"

I try not to look at Eric. He sounds mildly interested, but his tone says otherwise.

"Um, three younger brothers and two younger sisters. Forrest is older, but he left a while ago. My mom doesn't know where he went." I stare at the trees until my eyes blur, and Eric nods. "I think he ran off with his girlfriend. He was tired of helping babysit."

"That's…a lot of children." Eric's answer is muttered with obvious horror. "You all lived there? In one house?"

"Most of the time." I pause when he glances back, but he's merely switching lines. "Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"None," he answers sharply, slowing the car. "Which is fine by me."

"Were you ever lonely? My brothers got on my nerves, but someone was always home. Even if they were annoying." I think of Zander, doing his best to make everyone pay attention to him, no matter what was going on. "I hope they're alright."

"It was fine." Eric's jaw tightens. "I don't need to be entertained or have anyone bugging me. Your mother took all of them? Are you sure?"

"That's what her note said," I answer glumly, and I don't have to make any wild guesses as to what he's thinking. "She said they were heading an hour away. Maybe they went to Lakeview."

"Or Park Valley," Eric counters. "What does your father do?"

"He –"

I pause, because Eric pulls off to the side of the road. A few feet away, there is a car stuck halfway in the road, and were someone not paying attention, they'd more than likely hit it. It's parked haphazardly, like it broke down and they didn't make it to the side in time.

"What the…"

"Stay in the car." Eric puts the car in park, and he's out the door and flashing his badge before I can protest. I loathe feeling trapped and unarmed, though I'm sure I could find a gun if I really needed to. I watch Eric intently, hating the nervous feeling roaring its ugly head as he questions the man who must have been driving. It increases a million times more when the man looks at the police car, and our eyes meet.

He's creepy.

Not like he's some hideous creature, or is standing there waving a knife around, but there's something about him that makes me want to leave. He doesn't seem to like Eric much, and he keeps frowning with every question Eric asks. The man is shorter, close to Eric's age, but his brown hair is curly and damp looking. He forces a fake smile when Eric turns back to head to the car, and he throws the door open and slides in.

"What happened?" I turn to face Eric, and I hope he'll announce we're leaving. "Who is that guy?"

"He says his name is Peter." Eric opens the laptop, and he types the first and last name, along with the city and state, into the system. A profile appears with information about the car and driver, and a copy of his license appears.

He's even more unfriendly looking in his photo.

"He thinks his battery died. I'm going to help push him off the road. Claims his brother is coming with a new one. He doesn't want a jump or anything. I told him he needs to be completely off the street and not blocking traffic." Eric sounds bored, and he backs up the patrol car quickly. "He gave me some dick answer about there being no traffic. He still can't block the lanes."

"I don't like him," I announce, and Eric looks at me curiously. "I don't know why. He's weird. He didn't look happy while you were talking to him."

"He isn't happy," Eric answers evenly. He parks the car, and his stare finds mine. "He's got three unpaid speeding tickets. Luckily for him, I don't have a jail to bring him to. It's not worth my time to arrest him and he knows it."

"Oh, so…" I open the car door when Eric does, and he stops and shakes his head when I step out. "What?"

"Get back in the car," he orders, immediately thereafter barking at Peter to head to the front of his car. "You'll wait there till I'm done."

Before I can offer to help, thinking that maybe if both of us help this guy, we'll be on our way faster, Peter is right in front of me. His smile doesn't reach beyond his mouth, as he utters a low hey. He eyes me up and down, like he's taking inventory, and his stare slips back over to Eric.

"She should help," he suggests, as he steps closer. "It'll go faster if –"

"She waits in the car," Eric snaps, and he moves between us. The two of them have a silent standoff, though Peter is dumb to assume he'd be able to take Eric down. "She's not helping."

"Is she your girlfriend? Or you arrested her and dragged her along?" Peter looks around Eric at me, and his eyes are bright. "Let her help, man. She doesn't need you telling her what to do."

Eric cocks his head.

Even though we've only spent a few hours together, I've quickly learned Eric isn't someone I'd mess with. He's tall and broad, still covered in blood, and unafraid. He steps toward Peter, and I witness the exact moment Peter figures out it's in his best interest to shut up.

He backs down immediately, but his stare doesn't leave me.

"Hey, no worries. She doesn't have to help. Just though it would be quicker."

"Carlen, in the car. Turn the radio on and call this in." Eric looks over his shoulder quickly, and I nod, despite having no clue how to do any of that. "Route 5."

"Got it," I answer, and I do get back in the car. With one eye still on Eric, I fumble with the radio while he walks a few feet with Peter, and I start pushing buttons hoping something will connect.

To my surprise, it does.

"Station 1999, who is responding?" The woman's voice is even and calm. "Station 1999, again, who is responding? Are you in danger?"

"Um, this is Everly," I say carefully, and there's a clicking sound. "I'm calling in for…Lieutenant Coulter. He said to radio someone."

The clicking continues. She types at a frantic rate, pausing to ask me where I am.

"He said route 5."

"City and state?" She keeps typing, but I'm watching Eric and Peter. Eric helps him push the car back a few feet, and Peter looks annoyed when it gets stuck. "Ma'am are you still there? Is your officer in trouble?"

"There's a really weird guy with his car in the middle of the road. Eric is helping him push it back but I think something is wrong. He said to radio someone." My answer is quiet, and I know this information is probably super unhelpful. "Where are you? Are you nearby?"

"We are in New York." Her answer is clipped, and the radio crackles. "Is the Lieutenant armed? Have you tried reaching a local station? I'm showing no connection to the highway patrol near you, but I'll keep trying. Is your area infected?"

"Yes." I freeze when Eric turns to walk back, and Peter watches him intently. His eyes narrow when he sees me, and I swear he smirks. "Um, he's coming back. He's –"

The radio disconnects.

It's sudden and disappointing. Eric throws me a funny look when he slides into the driver's seat, and he locks the doors.

"You okay?"

"I got a hold of someone," I blurt out, and his grey eyes find mine. "They were in New York. She said she tried to reach the highway patrol here but there was no answer. Then it hung up."

"It's alright," Eric shrugs, watching as Peter gets back in his car. "Normally, I'd call this in and have someone patrol the area until he's gone, but there's no point in it now. He's going to sit there until his brother shows up. You okay? I only told you to stay in the car because he looks suspicious."

I nod, relieved when Eric drives the car back onto the main road. "He just gave me a weird feeling."

Eric is silent. He drives past Peter without looking at him, and he only glances in the rearview mirror once, like he's making sure he's not following us.

When we are a good distance away, he nods, and he looks fairly impressed.

"Agreed."

By the time we reach the shitty diner, I realize he's probably never going to call me by my real name.

Our drive down the mountain was pretty quiet, but time consuming; Eric scanned the radio for active stations, listened to a few calls, and skimmed through most of them. The ones that connected were all the same: stations begging for help, or the occasional person answering and informing whoever was listening, that their only option is to head a safe zone. There were a few moments where other agencies answered, but not many. A lone highway patrol officer radioed that there was a pile up of bodies on the 10, and his call was cut short when someone started screaming, followed by a loud crash of grinding metal.

By the time we reached the base of the mountain, my head hurt.

Eric parks in front of a diner named Black Mountain Inn Eatery. It's settled near a gas station, a rundown looking motel, and the wide expanse of forest. It appears to be a tourist trap, a nice break from the twisty mountain drive, and fairly popular. I'm stunned to see numerous cars here, and the neon open sign lit up. I should be thrilled for another break from driving, this time without the creepy guy and his car, but it's starting to get dark. The sun is dipping in the sky slowly, casting an eerie but fitting glow over the woods.

I sit silently as Eric shuts the laptop and shoves his phone in his jacket pocket. He glances over at me, and cocks one eyebrow when I don't move. "Are you hungry? I thought we'd eat, and I'll try Jason again. The next town is still a day away."

"Yeah, I think so."

It's weird to remember I haven't eaten anything today. I slide out of the car when Eric does, and I observe the area like I'll need to remember it. The gas station appears to be empty, but it does offer sodas for a dollar, and the large gas pumps creak in the wind. There are benches outside the store, a few pots with flowers in them, and a large A-frame sign promoting the diner next door for its spectacular views and home cooked meals. The diner is set to the side, about a dozen steps up, and I'm guessing it offers a view of the woods.

Behind it, the motel lurks, seedy, and not at all safe looking.

"Come on. If it gets late enough, we'll stay here," Eric gestures for me to follow him. "You okay over there?"

"Here?" I stare at the motel in horror, remembering the time Leif and I watched a movie about a crazy mother who ran a motel and killed people while they showered. "You want to stay here?"

Eric looks at me in disbelief.

I would normally find his reactions interesting, because it's obvious no one ever disagrees with him. His lips press together, and his shoulders pull back, like he's going to physically fight me for not wanting to be murdered by a psycho motel owner, and his eyes narrow.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Were you expecting the Ritz Carlton? There are only certain places still open. If a town is overrun with zombies, it's likely there's nowhere to stay. Roadside motels are being forced to stay open for officers and rescue. Would you like me to keep driving? Maybe you'd rather camp in the woods?"

"Um, no it's just…. I saw a movie about a girl who stayed in a hotel just like this one, and it looked fine when she checked in, but that night, someone tried to kill her while she was showering and –"

He glares at me.

Eric puts his hands on his hips, and I fully expect him to read me my Miranda rights. "You'll be fine. I'll make sure no one stabs you."

"Are we sharing a room? I'm not an officer."

I squeak when he takes hold of me by the arm, and to anyone watching –like the crazy old man who's now standing in front of the gas station, or the guy standing beside him, squinting at us –it looks like he's about to lean in and kiss me.

He most certainly doesn't.

Instead, Eric lowly informs me our options are limited, I can go with him or stay in the car.

I give in.

Not because he's scaring me or he's in charge, but because I am starving, it's dark out here, and the creepy old man is still lurking at the gas station.

Also, because Eric's hands are warm, and he keeps one on my arm as we walk in. He stays so close that I bump into his side, and we only separate when we're led to a table in the back of the diner, overlooking the deep, dark forest.

"Here you go. The plates are hot, so be careful. One turkey sandwich, and one hamburger with extra fries. I'll come back to check on you in a few minutes. By the way, where are you two from? Lakeview? I heard it's up in flames. The last officer here was leaving town because his mother-in-law tried to eat him. Paul is worried it'll come this way."

Our waitress is friendly, but more to Eric than me. She hovers near his side of the table, or just off to the side, pouring endless cups of coffee while staring at him. Her nametag reads Lucy, and she occasionally looks at me like she's not sure why I'm with him.

Or wearing the same jacket.

Her gaze lingers on it longer than it should, until I look up at her.

"Are you both from Lakeview?" She narrows her eyes, and glances back at Eric. "You're with him?"

"Do you remember the officer who came through here? Did you get a name?" Eric interrupts, and I smile sweetly at Lucy before she looks at Eric. I feel as though she doesn't like me very much, or maybe she's hoping Eric will save her from working in this haunted diner. "Male, female? How old?"

"It was a guy. Kinda…jumpy. I don't remember where he was from. His uniform looked like yours." Lucy lingers, even when the cook yells at her from behind the counter. "Same color and everything."

"Yes, well, if he's an officer, he'd be wearing the uniform," Eric answers dryly, and I can't help but laugh as I take a bite of my sandwich. Lucy throws me a dirty look, and Eric's stare flashes to me. His expression is unbothered, but it's obvious he finds some mild appreciation in me laughing.

"Great." He waves Lucy away, then reaches for his plate. "She'll have another drink, by the way."

"Oh…uh, sure." Lucy reluctantly leaves, and I watch her out of the corner of my eye.

When she reaches the counter, there are a few plates waiting to be served. We aren't the only ones in here, and much to my surprise, the place appears to have regulars. Some are sitting at the counter, some are a few booths away, but they all look like they really enjoy eating here. I take a quick inventory of if they're alive or not, and I decide all look not dead, except for one.

The old lady at the end of the counter ranting about her eggs looks suspicious, but it's not from a zombie bite.

At least not that I can see.

"Eat your food. Your drink should be back soon," Eric insists, and his own stare sweeps the restaurant. His eyes linger on the old lady, yelling about how the cook is a moron, and Lucy tells her she can leave if she's going to be rude.

I sit up straighter when someone else drops a drink off for me, and Eric raises his eyebrow when I tell him Lucy has the hots for him.

"She wants you. She keeps looking over here."

"Aren't you funny," he retorts, dragging a fry off his plate like it's killing him to be eating such food. "She's being nice because she wants a good tip. Which is stupid, considering money will hold no value in the next few days."

"What?" I freeze with my drink halfway to my mouth. "What do you mean, money will hold no value? We still have banks."

"For now," he mutters. "Look, I thought Jason was nuts when he wrote the zombie post, but everything he's outlined has come true. It started in small towns, is spread by being bitten, the zombies are fairly intelligent. He said he'd studied it enough to piece together what was coming, and so far, he's not wrong."

"So, what's next?" I take a sip of the drink, and I enjoy the soda slowly, figuring it might be my last. "Cities on fire? Godzilla rising up out of the oceans? Aliens?" I ask slyly.

Eric's expression changes.

It turns to something that hints he can't believe he brought me along with him, and his odds of survival have just plummeted.

A scowl later, he shakes his head.

"Media will go down. They'll stop reporting the outbreaks and what towns are being infected, and at what rate. You'll see more military than police, though we'll be asked to help. Communication will go down on a civilian level, thought the radio in the car might still work." Eric pauses to shrug, and he watches me toy with the straw. "Power will go out, outbreaks will become uncontrollable, it'll be a free for all. We'll need to make sure to take any ammunition or weapons we find. Some towns are on the brink of collapse already."

I lean back against the booth, and my appetite fades.

"Should we really be sitting here and…and…" I glance around furiously, but he doesn't move. "Shouldn't we be leaving?"

"No. We need to eat. And if I'm being honest, Jason is too kind in giving humanity as much time as he did. He predicted if a zombie outbreak happened, half the US would be wiped out within seven days. Two thirds by fourteen days, and the remaining one third would be left to rebuild. If they can get the infection under control."

"Is there a way to stop it?" I force myself to eat a few more bites. "Is there a cure?"

"He believes so," Eric accepts something from Lucy, a weird paper packet with the logo of the motel printed on the cover, and he sets it off to the side. "Depends on how fast they can pump one out."

"How do I pay for my sandwich?" I glance at the windows facing the parking lot, and I try to remember if my wallet was in my purse when I grabbed it. "Do you want me to go get –"

"Eat your lunch. Dinner. Whatever it is. Do you want anything else?" He pulls a card out of his wallet, and he's quick. He hands it to Lucy as she wanders by again, her uniform skirt riding up and her hair now down from the ponytail it was in previously. "Here, will you run this? She'll need a to go box, as well."

"Are you guys…are you staying here?" Lucy plucks the card out of his hand, trying to examine the name without him noticing. "The keys are only for one room."

"Do you work the front desk?" I ask, curious if she did everything here. "Does your mother own this place? Is she…old?"

"Carlen," Eric says my name warningly, and I do my best not to look at him. "Finish your dinner."

"I'll take the to go box. You haven't seen anything…weird going on here, have you? Anyone lurching around with one arm? Or one and a half arms?"

Lucy blinks. She stares at the jacket –not mine, with a badge pinned on it that does not say Carlen –then at Eric. For a solid minute, her gaze slides back and forth as she tries to place who I am to him. I could save her the trouble and point out I barely know him, but he kicks my foot and I smile widely.

"It's okay if you have. You can tell me."

"What are you talking about?" Lucy demands, and she looks annoyed. "One armed what?"

"She wants to know if you've seen anyone infected. There aren't any reports for this area, so she's making sure it's still safe. We're heading to one of the safe zones, but it's a day away." Eric answers, rubbing his temples with his fingers. "You can run the card. Add ten for yourself."

"Oh, so you're….co-workers?" Lucy ignores the last part and focuses only on figuring out why I get to eat with Eric. "Okay, um, sure. I'll go ring you up now."

"Thanks."

His answer is tight, and so is his jaw. It stays that while we finish eating, but I don't mind the silence. There's plenty to look at in here –weird animals mounted to the wall as trophies, sticky menus with the daily specials, and numerous, aged photographs of famous patrons. I stare at a man with wild, curly hair and an accordion, until Eric asks if I know any of Ian's other officers.

"I know all of them. Greg and Tony are really nice. Matt is newer, and he works by the school. Or he did." I stop when I think of him waving kids across the crosswalk, and I don't doubt he's probably been bitten. "We had some who've been there forever. Daryl and Wendel, a woman named Maize."

"Have you seen them lately?" Eric accepts the bill from Lucy, and scrawls his name on the bottom of the receipt. "Or just…Ian and—"

"Landon?" His name tastes bitter in my mouth for a few reasons, but there's some guilt about shooting him in the head hours ago. "Yeah, I know him. His dad is really nice, but Landon? He's not."

I drop my gaze to my half-eaten sandwich, and unfortunately for me, Eric's interest is piqued. He stares intently, and when I look up, his lips are pressed tightly together. He relaxes when I force myself to smile, because we both know Landon is dead. My only choice was to let him bite Eric and me, or kill him and move on.

"You didn't hesitate to shoot him," Eric takes a sip of his coffee, and his posture doesn't relax. "You must not have been that close."

"Not really," I look away, not wanting to talk about him. "But he was one of the zombies and I didn't want him to kill you. Which, by the way, are you going to give me a gun? Or at least return the one I had? It's not fair that you're armed and I'm not."

Eric leans back against the booth. He looks like he's trying not to laugh, which is hilarious considering he seems to have no real sense of humor. "Who taught you how to shoot a gun? You have decent aim for someone…wearing that."

I keep my own expression neutral, not at all bothered by his suspicion. In his line of work, anyone with a gun would probably put him on alert, and Haling Cove residents are no exception. While a lot of our community liked to hunt, most found the act violent and unnecessary. It would make sense Eric would be curious how I saved his life, especially considering it was with Ian's gun.

"My brother taught me. We'd go in the woods and he'd shoot cans or dead branches or targets. Whatever he could find. We never shot any animals or people," I pause when Eric's lips turn up oh so slightly. "But I know how to shoot. I know how to check if the safety is on. Forrest was always really careful when we went. That's why when I got Ian's gun, I knew I could shoot Landon."

Eric considers this while he finishes his coffee, and I fidget with the to go box. Outside, the sky is turning black. Helping Peter had taken some time, our stop had taken time, and driving here had put us way behind Eric's schedule. I have the sinking feeling that we are staying here, because Eric looks tired. I remember he told me he'd been going since five, and now, he's looking a little run down.

"Come on. We'll go check in and if it gets too creepy, we'll head out after I sleep for a few hours. Unless you want to drive. I have to take a break, or risk falling asleep while driving."

"We can stay." I agree, putting aside my fear of being murdered by a psycho in the shower. I'm not stupid enough to ask him to keep driving, and I'm not confident enough in my ability to drive his patrol car. With my luck, I'd drive us right over the ledge on the next mountain, and if we survived the fall, he'd never forgive me. "You should sleep. I don't mind staying here."

My words are a lie, and he clearly knows this, because he smiles.

It's flat out exhausted, thin and quick, and it looks completely wrong against his dark uniform.

The motel is terrifying.

The desk clerk hovers near the ripe old age of ninety-seven, and her voice croaks when she tells us the room is down the hall, around the bend, another turn, then around the corner from the ice machine. Her welcome speech includes several other perks to staying here –free cable so long as it stays on, heating and air conditioning, a pool if I wanted to risk being killed by a zombie while in a swimsuit, a bathtub, and a stunning view of the cliff the motel is built on. I stared wide eyed when she explained the motel was built years ago, on a large bluff overseeing the woods, and is still very safe. There's apparently a free breakfast on the outdoor patio each morning, and I shake my head no, until Eric knocks me out of the way to dryly thank her.

Black Mountain Inn is huge.

It creaks and groans as we walk through, and every so often, I catch our reflection in the artwork on the walls. Eric is much taller, broader, and less afraid. I come up somewhere near the middle of his chest, my dress is nowhere near as tough looking even with the police jacket, and I am afraid.

The hallway twists like a maze. We head down a winding, dimly lit section, and it feels like I'm descending into an underworld. The numbers are in ascending order, and each one seems more ominous than the next. We turn the corner the woman told us we'd reach, passing an ancient ice machine and a wave of chilly air, and there is the room. Eric swipes the card several times, staring at it with a hint of hesitation that it might not open, and I wonder if we'll be trapped inside if the power goes out.

I don't get too long to think about it.

It unlocks with a mechanical click, and I'm ushered inside, clutching my bag to my chest.

"Carlen, move. You have to be in the room so I can shut the door," Eric barks, his exasperation coming from my inability to keep walking. I'm frozen in the tiny entryway, and he does his best to move me. "What is your problem?"

"We're going to get murdered here." I blurt out, and I whirl around to face him. "That lady –"

"Is near death, yes. Now get inside and go take a shower. I'm going to bed as soon as I take one," Eric growls the words are me, having no real patience for my freak out. I force myself to calm down, and once I do step inside, he shuts the door. Then he slides the heavy top lock across and throws me an eye roll. "Happy? She can't get through that. Now go wash the blood off and change, and I'm going to try and call Harrison."

"Who's Harrison?"

I set the bag and the to-go box down on the small table by the bathroom door while Eric moves past me. He closes the curtains, covering up the dark view of endless treetops, before he fumbles with his jacket. He pulls out his cell phone, then sits down on the edge of the lone bed. I look around for somewhere else to sleep; a second bed, another door leading to another room, a chair, anything.

There is nothing.

"Harrison is a co-worker. Same rank as Max. I'm hoping he's in this area."

"I hope he answers. Do you think he's nearby?" I look at Eric once more, noticing the fatigue in his posture and the way he closes his eyes, and I walk into the bathroom before he can tell me no.

Of course, Harrison is nowhere near here.

That would be too easy.

I turn the shower on, praying for enough hot water that both Eric and I can shower, and my fingers shake as it hits me how real this all is. I strip off the second dress, this one not covered in blood, and I wonder if I can wash it somehow, or if the safe zone will have somewhere to do laundry. The bathroom quickly turns warm, and when I step inside, the water is hot enough to nearly burn my skin off.

It feels heavenly.

I stand there for a few guiltless minutes, letting the hot water wash away the day. The heat sears off the visual of Ian lunging at me, of Hazel roaming my neighborhood while my mother left me behind, and Landon on top of Eric, seconds away from biting off a chunk of his neck. While I wash my hair with crappy motel shampoo, I let the burning feeling of crying work its way through me, then I blink it away because I'm safe.

It might not be permanent, but for now, I'm away from the zombies. I'm in a motel with an armed officer, and while I don't really know him, he won't hurt me.

I can tell.

Landon always had the faintest hint of violence to him. Eric does, too, but it's different. He has a restraint and a discipline Landon never possessed, one that hints Eric earned his position, while Landon lucked into his. I hate comparing them since their intentions are far different, but I'm not afraid of Eric the way I occasionally was of Landon. I liked to hope he'd never outright hurt me, given we knew his father, and he was fairly well known around town, but there was a feeling that if he could own me, Landon would.

I use more conditioner than necessary to detangle my hair, and I try to think what I can do to help Eric. The thought comes of out of nowhere, but it settles in my brain until I decide there must be something that will make all this easier on him. He's agreed to bring me along, and the least I can do is lessen his stress.

Unfortunately, my knowledge of police work and driving a patrol car is limited.

With a sigh, and the understanding that the best I can do is to stay out of his way, I turn off the water. I reach for a towel, drying my hair with the thin, cheap fabric, and with great horror, and I realize I've left my bag outside. I have no choice but to wrap myself up in the towel, open the door, and go get my clothes.

Much like the very way Hazel attacked out of nowhere, I crash into Eric. He wasn't heading toward the bathroom, but the motel door, and he steadies me with his hands.

"What are you doing?"

"I forgot my clothes."

We both speak at the same time. He stares at me unabashedly, his eyes examining my face and neck. His stare trails down to my collarbone, and I know he's looking again to make sure I really haven't been bitten.

There's some odd disappointment on my part.

It comes out of nowhere, a punch to the stomach that his gaze is clinical, but my cheeks burn anyway.

"I left my bag out here so…" I wait for him to let go, and he steps aside with a nod.

"I'm going to get some ice. I'll be right back."

Eric slips out the motel door the second I grab the bag. I change quickly, taking inventory of the clothes I have left, and I figure I'm good for a few days. I've packed enough for a week, but nothing in my bag is particularly zombie ready. The darkest thing I've brought is a pair of underwear, and the boots Eric had found.

I throw on pajamas, figuring I can climb in bed and watch something if the TV works, and I hang up the police jacket in the closet. I kick the boots in there as well, then head back into the middle of the room. I stop to look around, taking in the décor and bland furniture, but it's not entirely awful.

While there is no one hiding behind the heavy curtains to stab me, and the room is far unlike my bedroom, it offers the faintest stirrings of hope. It's dark and clean, paisley print carpet and a matching bedspread, outdated. I don't know who's stayed in this room before me, but there's something about the generic artwork, the empty dresser, and the archaic tv, that makes me feel optimistic.

I feel less optimistic when Eric returns, slams the ice bucket onto the table, then silently heads into the bathroom. He's on the phone, his voice low and tense, and I figure it's not good news.

I try to conjure up what he could possibly be saying, but I climb into bed, still wondering if he really planned on sleeping by me, but I don't think about it too long. The bed is warm and surprisingly comfortable, and the room is quiet. My eyes close the second my head hits the pillow, and the sounds of the shower are soothing.

I dream of absolutely nothing, until Linda shows up in a nightmarish way, shoving handfuls of muffins and tiny knitted sweaters at me.

Much like Zander, Eric takes up more than half the bed.

I wake up to him beside me, face down in the pillow with his back to me. One of his legs is touching mine, bare skin upon bare skin, and his feet disappear near the end of the bed. I try to push him away carefully, as if I'm strong enough to move him, and it proves predictably impossible.

I scowl at him and his enviable sleep. I test out saying his name, whispering it into the darkness, but he doesn't move. When I reach my hand back out to nudge him, his skin radiates with a warmth I'm unfamiliar with, though the urge to curl up beside him is strong. I ignore it while I try to shove him onto his own side of the bed, because it's clear he collapsed after his shower and did his best not to lie near me.

Unfortunately, this bed isn't oversized in any way. I'm so close I could put my head against his shoulder blade to count every inhale and exhale, and he's more on my side than his. I reach out carefully, pressing my palms flat on the bare skin of his arm and I try to nicely shake him so he'll scoot over.

It doesn't work.

He wakes up enough to aimlessly swat at me, and then there's a low growl for me to leave him alone.

I do, but only for a minute.

My stare leaves him. It heads over the wall, to the outside.

The curtains are still closed, but there's a sliver of moonlight filtering through, and the sound of a car crunching over gravel. I slip out of the bed silently, and head over to the curtains to peer out. It takes a moment for my vision to adjust, and an even longer moment for me to realize we're so far back in the motel that we're almost back around near the diner. This dawns on me when I see the man park right next to the patrol car, and out climbs Peter.

"What the –"

He's impossible not to recognize. His hair is messed up, and his shirt is rumpled, but it's him. I watch from the window, a floor above him, on a level the check in lady swore is safe, and he ambles around his own car to look into Eric's. Lit up by a single, still on streetlight, he eyes it warily, going so far as to bend down to get a better view. I can't figure out what he's looking for, but he glances around in both directions to see if anyone is out there to see what he's doing, and then he tries to open the car door.

"Hey!"

"What on Earth are you doing?"

I jump at the words, and I nearly smack my head on the window. Behind me stands Eric, half asleep and shirtless, and none too thrilled to have been woken up.

"That guy from before, the one you helped move his car…. he's out there. He just tried to open the car door!" I look up at Eric, doing my best to avoid his bare chest and deep scowl, but it proves impossible when he steps so close, that I do knock into the window. "Hey! What are you –"

"That is him," Eric comments, squinting out into the darkness. "What the fuck is he doing to my car? Is he an idiot?"

"Are you going to stop him?" I crane my head up, and Eric looks down, sort of surprised. He steps back quickly, then pulls the curtains closed. "What if he gets inside?"

"He won't," Eric retorts, but he leans over me, glancing out once more. "The alarm will go off. Not to mention I brought everything inside. He's a nosey prick. Probably recognized the car and thought he'd steal something." He hesitates for a moment, and blinks at me, like he's not sure I'm real. "Come on, I want to leave by seven."

"Seven…in the morning?" I repeat, not sure if I've heard him right or I'm still half asleep.

"No, seven at night. I thought we'd stay here all day and you can hang out with Lucy." Eric retorts, and he leave me to climb back into bed. He shuts his eyes immediately, and his breathing slows. "Go back to sleep. Or you can stay up and watch Peter. Whatever works."

"You aren't worried he'll break the window or something?"

"If he does, I'll kill him." Eric's voice turns low, sleepy and not at all threatened by the man who was snooping around his car. "Come on, Carlen. It's late."

I agree with him, but I take a moment to watch Eric fall back asleep, completely unbothered. He sleeps gracelessly, one arm thrown over the edge of the bed, like he's not afraid there's a monster hidden beneath, waiting for bare flesh. His eyes don't open, not even when I step away from the window, and if anything, he exhales heavily once I do climb back in bed.

I try to stay away from him.

He's a little intimidating with how brave he is, and while I can mimic some of it –his arrogant posture, his no-nonsense attitude, his general disdain for nearly everything –I find myself a little more skittish. I sink back into the pillows, knowing it's not just his police training, or every intense situation he's ever been in that I never will, but who he is.

And while admirable, I don't know if I can keep up.

I know I can't.

It's why when I do fall asleep, it's facing him, with my knees bent so they're close, but not touching, and my head is near his back. It's why when I wake up to him grunting out a greeting on his phone, dark and irritated over being woken up again, that I'm so close that I'm almost pressed against him.

Neither of us mention it.

He gets up out of bed, grasping for paper to write something down, and I stay there, drifting in between listening to him say yes, and okay, and sure, and a dreamworld where zombies don't exist. I hear Eric leave, gone for much longer than I'd like, and I get up when he returns with toast and waffles. He evenly informs me we're leaving in a half hour. I try to mirror his cavalier attitude toward everything as I sleepily eat a waffle, but it sticks in my throat when I think of Peter, and not even the terrible coffee washes it down.

"Do you have something against pants?"

This time, his looks is incredulous.

I would dare say Eric is handsome in this moment; striking against the mountain backdrop, his hair slicked back and his uniform buttoned all the way up, and somehow even taller than I remember. He stands by his car chewing on a toothpick, watching me smugly wave a goodbye to Lucy. She's gaping from the diner, forlorn and weirdly lovesick, and I hope she knows it took Eric nearly ten minutes to comb his hair, and another three to lace up his boots perfectly.

"It's supposed to be hot out today," I announce, taking the steps two at a time. He cocks his head to stare at me, and I pause on the last step. "Really hot."

"No, it isn't," Eric grits out, and his gaze falls to my bare legs. "Did you only pack…dresses?"

"I also brought a couple of sweaters."

My answer greatly displeases him. I have the feeling Eric does not have a partner, and if he did, it would be his friend he's trying to find. But if he had a partner who wasn't his friend, it's obvious he expects them to be dressed the part.

"It's cold where we're going. Possibly snowing." Eric hisses, and I decide I like when he gets all riled up. Despite his cool exterior, I can see his mind whirling, and I have a feeling he's going to demand I change. "Carlen, it's –"

"My name is Everly, and I didn't bring pants. You said I was going to a safe zone, where I assumed it would be warm. I'm fine. I can run in this, probably faster than you can, and I put my hair up. So, we're good. I have the jacket, too. I'll put it on in the car."

His jaw tenses.

I'm surprised the toothpick doesn't snap in half, especially when he clenches his jaw down.

"And your boots?"

"I packed them. They didn't match." I head for my side of the patrol car, having silently claimed it as my own. "These are fine."

"They're untied," Eric retorts, watching me like I've personally wronged him. "You know what, fine. Wear whatever you want. Don't come crying to me when you're cold, or you fall down another cliff."

"That was Hazel," I answer testily, and he slides into the driver's seat. "I didn't fall down any cliff. And I saved your life. Twice. You owe me."

"Whatever."

His answer is petulant and sulky, and he slams the car door shut. His scowl vanishes when I hand him the muffin I've taken from the outdoor breakfast, and he stares at me in confusion.

"The check in lady said I should take you some breakfast. Something about my husband needing to eat, and a waffle wasn't going to fill you up," I watch him while I talk, doing my best not to laugh. "Oh, and she said you can come back any time. She'll even upgrade us to one of the suites. I thanked her on your behalf."

He looks at me.

Eric is silent, his expression torn between not believing me, and losing his mind over someone assuming he was married to me, but also like he doesn't know how to react.

He finally puts the car in reverse, and we leave the Black Mountain Inn.

It looms behind us as we drive, sort of beckoning us to return, like it can't believe survived the night.

I don't look back.

"Do you think dinosaurs really ruled the land?"

Eric stares.

His gaze is not unwelcome; in the four hours we've spent in the car today, I've learned two solid facts about him. One was that he was right-handed, and two was he absolutely loathed being asked anything personal. I made the mistake of asking if the Daniel Coulter back at the Lakeview station was his father, and as a response, he snarled out a very dark, unfriendly yes. I should have stopped there, but I wanted to know more about him, so I asked if his mom worked there, too, and his answer of no was said while he ground his teeth together.

His answer to my question of was she nice, was so icy that I shut up, and I alternated between staring out the window and trying to figure out what I would do at the safe zone.

Eric stopped when I reached peak boredom. He pulled off the road into a truck stop, and he seemed relieved it was opened. He got gas, ignoring my comment that the banks must still be operating, and forced me to go inside and pick out something for lunch. My options were limited to the fine selection of greasy fast food, so I picked a chicken salad, and went to sit with Eric near the window.

"What?" He cocks an eyebrow and pauses eating the chicken sandwich he ordered. "You're asking me if dinosaurs ruled the land? What's in your chicken salad? Tequila?"

I point to the large sign a few feet away. It's covered in dinosaur pictures, advertising the toys in the kid's meals. "It says right there. I was just wondering what your thoughts were on that."

"Are you serious?" He throws me a bewildered look, but he does turn. His uniform is stiff and uncomfortable looking, and I try to forget I've seen him without his shirt on. The last thing in the world I need is a stupid crush on the officer I'm tagging along with. "I've never given it much consideration. I'm too busy."

"Me either," I take another bite of lunch, trying not to laugh. He looks so thrown off that I'm guessing no one asks him anything other than police questions. "Um, how did you meet Jason? Is he your partner?"

There's a flash of surprise that crosses his face.

It vanishes quickly, and Eric nods. "We went through the academy together. Me, him, and Rylan."

"Who's Rylan?" I stab my chicken with a vengeance, and behind me, the door chimes as someone else comes in. "Does he work at your station?"

"He does. We all work in Lakeview. Jason and Rylan were both sent to Haling. Rylan went…a different way and we lost communication after a day. Jason made it to Haling but I haven't heard much since then. I've been trying to find them, but –"

"Should we go back to Haling?" I ignore the voices behind us, and Eric's attention slides over me, to look at who walked in. "Maybe they're still there."

"I thought about that, but I was there for hours with no sign of them. Rylan's last connection came from far north, and Jason's went dead somewhere in Haling. The assumption is that both are dead, but I refuse to believe it. They're resourceful."

"Yeah," I agree, though I've never met either. "Do you think –"

"Everly, get up."

Eric says my name, my real name, darkly. He stands quickly, reaching for his weapon and aiming it somewhere over me. I trip over my feet as I stand up, and he moves to stand beside me. Right as I think he's about to push me behind him, he pulls me against his chest, and instructs me to take hold of the gun.

"Aim at the head. If you can get him in one shot, great. If a second is needed, that's fine. Don't fire until I say so."

"What?" I'm stunned as he covers my hands with his, and his arms close inward. Eric is solid behind me, and he smells oddly good for someone who used the same shitty motel soap I did. "You want me to shoot him?"

"You wanted a gun, and I need to see you can shoot and not panic. So, aim, preferably at the temple, and when you're ready, we'll shoot."

The moment is dreamlike. In a rundown, aging McDonalds, Eric and I stand facing the rotting zombie roving through the restaurant. It shares an open space with the gas station, and it was probably a busy hub for travelers. It's empty now. There are only a few workers, uninterested and only here because someone likely insisted they show up for work. There is a single man stocking cups behind the counter, and he barely looks up when the decaying, grey skinned man missing one eye drags past him.

The zombie walks slowly, his head tilting and his mouth grunting out words that sound like he's in pain, and he's failed to notice us. He walks by a row of chips, gets his arm caught on a slushie machine, and knocks over the hot dog display.

"Everly…"

My name sounds foreign coming from him. It's not the rough Carlen, barked while he tried to get me back in the car, but very normal sounding. Encouraging even.

"Can you shoot him?"

"Is this how you train all your officers?" I ask, and he snorts.

Eric tightens his grip on my hands and raises the gun a fraction of an inch. "Yes. All of them."

"Okay, I'm ready. I can do it." I stand still, and the zombie turns to look at us. The sound of my voice must be appealing, because he starts running, right at us, and Eric nods.

"Good. You can shoot now."

I squeeze the trigger right as the zombie picks up speed, and Eric holds me still. The action isn't entirely necessary; I'd shot Landon just fine but having Eric behind me is reassuring. I'm knocked back into his chest once I fire, and the bullet hits the zombie square in the head. His skin splits apart with a satisfying, yet sickening squish.

Dark, sticky blood pours out, but Eric nudges me to fire again.

"One more. He's still walking. Fire whenever you're ready."

I listen obediently. I aim the gun as best I can, and it's harder this time. The zombie isn't slowing down, but his walk is choppy and drunk, and he nears us much faster. I try to get the perfect shot, knowing I'll be wasting ammunition if I miss, and Eric urges me to shoot.

"Any day now. Unless you want to be zombie food."

He says the last party dryly, walking us back a step, and it's obvious he's not entirely concerned. The zombie lumbers on, hitting his shin on the bolted down, swirling chair, and I swear he looks down in annoyance.

"Come on, Carlen. Stop messing around," Eric mutters, and he drops his head down. His mouth is near my ear, and he nudges his head against mine. "He's gonna bite you. After he sues the owner for having such a horrible seating layout."

"You're distracting me," I try not to laugh, enjoying this moment. Eric is clearly not worried, and he's using this time to have some rare, sudden fun. "Will there still be courts? I thought the power is going out and the world is ending."

"Don't jinx it," Eric warns, and I pull the trigger right as the zombie comes a little too close.

This time, he collapses to the ground, gurling and gasping.

I grin in pure triumph, and Eric smiles. I can't see him smiling, but I can feel it. He holds on longer than necessary, his hands still covering mine, and his chest against my back, and he stays there until we're sure the zombie is dead.

It takes a minute for the zombie to stop moving, and when he does, Eric drops his head down again.

His cheek touches mine for a split second, and he lowly informs me I can have a gun if I promise not to shoot him.

Eric breaks away when the McDonalds workers clap, startling the both of us. The bubble of privacy bursts, and the scene before me sharpens. I've killed a zombie in a fast-food chain, wearing another dress, a pair of untied shoes, with Eric's arms around me.

It becomes even more surreal when the door opens again, and this time, Peter walks right on in.


	4. The Golden Acorn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to Erin for editing! Have a great weekend!

I stare in total surprise.

Standing there, Peter is illuminated by the exit sign. His cherubic face is lit up by the red light, and it gives him a devilish glow. He turns when the clapping slows down, and while surveying the store, his eyes meet mine.

The recognition is immediate.

His lips turn upwards, but his smile isn't kind. I have the feeling he's been hunting Eric and me, and he thinks he's stumbled upon his prey in the most near perfect situation possible.

A middle of nowhere fast-food restaurant, except with a gun aimed in his general direction. Even though we could shoot him before he can utter a word, he doesn't look concerned. There's a glint of metal near his waistband, and I don't need police training to figure out he's armed, too.

Eric notices as well; he pulls me closer while adjusting his stance wider.

"Are you going to shoot him?" Eric's voice is low in my ear, rich and warm. He keeps his hands on mine, and his arms tighten around me. "Didn't you say you didn't like him?"

"Eric, why is he here?" I whisper, and I lean back against him, watching Peter as he stands near the doors. Eric lets me. There's an understanding stemming from our brief time together, that we'll look out for each other; I saved his life and he'll save mine. It's an unspoken deal, one he will honor because of who he is.

Which is why he barely moves when Peter steps further inside; Eric merely shifts his weight as Peter heads in our direction, looking pleased.

"I don't know why he's here, Everly, but I do know you can't just shoot people you don't like," Eric announces mockingly, loud enough for Peter to hear.

It's intentional.

Peter's gaze darkens. Despite having done nothing to me, his expression turns to something vicious and heavy, and I'm reminded of Landon. Every so often, someone got under his skin. As an officer, it was easy for him to always have enough authority that people never challenged him. Like Eric, the badge gave Landon the control he wanted, though Landon occasionally let it get to his head.

Peter is nowhere near as intimidating, but sometimes, those kinds of people, are the worst. The ones you don't suspect, or don't give a second thought to, wind up being the most dangerous.

"Whoa, hey. Isn't this a coincidence?" Peter smiles, holding his palms up. "Who would have thought I'd run into you two, here, shooting at things?"

"Stay where you are," Eric calls out. "Don't take another step toward us. Go back toward the door."

"Why?" Peter demands, and he waits to see if Eric will do anything.

He could.

His hands are covering mine, and he could easily pull the trigger.

"I said, go toward the door. It's for your own safety," Eric commands, and he moves us over a step. I have no clue what he's doing, and I try to figure out if he's planning on shooting Peter, because he adjusts the gun higher than Peter's head. "I would listen –"

"Oh, right. Sorry. You're the cop and I'm not. I guess I should listen to someone who can do whatever can do he wants, just because he has a gun."

I'm pressed so close against Eric, that I feel his chest tighten. It's clear Peter's words hit a nerve. In Haling Cove, our officers are well respected. I always held Ian in high regards, and most of our townsfolk really enjoyed seeing the officers going about their businesses. One of the better career choices is to join our police force, if not just for the job security.

Maybe things are different in Lakeview and other towns, and they aren't as well liked.

"I think it's pretty clear you use your power to do whatever you please. Like how you kidnapped this girl," Peter grins, faux sympathy dripping from his smile. He glances at the workers behind the counter, all busy watching with rapt fascination, then gestures at me. "You might not have figured it out, but she's not here with him. He stole her. I tried to help her yesterday, but he hid her in the motel. She begged for me to help her."

"What?" I tighten my grip on the gun when my stomach drops. His words make my skin crawl, because the two workers look at me and their expressions are stunned. "Eric didn't steal me. I wanted to go with him! I'm looking for my family. I barely spoke to you."

"Right," Peter scoffs, and he walks slowly, one step at a time. "Did he tell you to say that? Look, let her go and she can come with me. I'll take her somewhere safe."

"Yeah, no thanks." I lean back farther into Eric, and the girl behind the counter snickers. "You can stay over there."

"There is no way you're willingly with him," Peter reaches for the gun he has, and Eric backs us up a step. "Let go of her, man. No one here thinks she wants to hang out with you. I saw that motel you dragged her into. You think you'll get away with it now, but you won't."

"I'm not going anywhere with you," I call out, and were Eric not behind me, I'd have already bolted. Or shot Peter. "I don't even know you."

"She doesn't want to go with you, man!" The guy working looks up from the register, and he taps at the screen a few times. "Dude, this is way better than my last shift. The best thing that happened was someone fell asleep and the fries caught fire."

"I suggest you stay right there," Eric warns, a hint of finality ringing through the store. His grip tightens as well, and my arms start to burn from being extended. "You don't know anything about her or me. Like I told you yesterday, I'm with the Lakeview police. I was assigned to the Haling Cove area. I –"

Eric jerks the gun up higher.

It takes me a second to figure out what he's doing, but when I do, I gasp. So does the girl behind the counter, and the guy working with her –both no older than me, and looking in the same direction I am, and we all see it at the same time.

A second zombie.

She comes out of nowhere, dressed in what was once a pretty red skirt and top. She's missing half her lower jaw, the bones of her upper face are exposed, skin slipping and dripping down to her neck, and she's missing a few fingers. She walks faster than her friend from earlier, but with the same broken gait. Her eyes are more focused than the first zombie, but still opaque. Her hair was blonde, but now it's splattered with what I'm assuming is blood.

Whatever it is, it gives her a haunting appearance, like she's more ghost than zombie.

"Look, asshole. Give me the girl. I thought it was weird she was in your car, and it was weird when you made her get back in the car. You aren't in charge of her. So, lower your gun, quit pretending you'll shoot me, and let her go."

I feel Eric shift. He does lower the gun, a mere fraction of an inch, but it's still aimed over Peter's shoulder. The zombie looks at Eric, her head tilting to mirror his, and we all wait.

"Listen, asshole, I said –"

"You sure you don't want me to shoot?" Eric asks, and his voice drips with politeness. "Because really, it would be in your best interest."

"Yeah, you shooting me is in my best interest. Aren't you funny?" Peter rolls his eyes, and it seems like there's a speck of humanity left in the zombie behind him. She stands up straighter, cocking her head the other way to size him up, then she moves in silently. Unlike her friend, she doesn't crash into anything, but her mouth is concerning.

She stretches it wide, the lower half missing teeth, and her jawbone jagged and rough, but the top is sharp and expansive. I'm reminded of a shark, especially when she lunges for Peter, and her remaining teeth sink into the skin of his neck.

"Fuck!"

She's quick. For a zombie, she's fairly agile, and it's instinctive to shoot her. Eric fires the gun for me, but she's already torn a chunk of Peter's skin away, and he frantically presses on the wound to try and stop the bleeding.

Unfortunately, for him, it's a losing battle.

His fingers are covered in a sticky red; he screams as he collapses, swearing at Eric, but it doesn't do much. The blood gushes out faster than I would expect. It's like a movie, one I'd prefer not to be watching, disgusting and gory, and without an off button.

Behind Peter, the zombie woman crumples as soon as she's hit by the second bullet. She's graceless, though I imagine her to have been graceful in her former life. She lands behind him, her head smacking on a display of cheap sunglasses, and her final sounds are grunts of sheer annoyance.

Peter's are similar.

"Fuck you, asshole! Get me to a hospital!"

"Oh right," Eric mocks. "Because I know where the nearest hospital is."

"Eric, should we…" I trail off when the girl behind the counter gestures wildly, and we all know what's coming.

Watching it in real time is horrifying, but fascinating in a morbid way.

Peter's eyes roll back in his head, and his entire body tenses. He blurts out a string of obscenities, one after the other, until his words are intelligible. I watch with wide eyes as his skin turns pale. The faintest sheen of grey appears, and he turns sweaty and ashy. He slumps over with a thud, and Eric aims the gun at him.

"You gotta finish it. He'll reanimate by the end of the day." Eric's words are quiet. He says them lowly, muttered against my ear, and I feel him take a deep breath. "Do you want me to do it?"

"Why was he saying that stuff about me?" I ask, staring down at the body. "I don't even know him. I barely spoke to him."

"He wanted you," Eric answers. "It's dangerous everywhere. If I wasn't with you, and you were driving on your own, God knows where you'd be now."

Eric's words send a chill up my spine, because he's telling the truth.

Just like Jason predicted, there really is no plan to handle the zombies. Their infection has brought about a wave of lawlessness to the towns, and now I'm seeing it firsthand. If Ian couldn't fend off a zombie, and neither could Landon, odds are, normal citizens wouldn't be able to, either. This left the remaining officers scrambling to retain some control, but it gives people like Peter their moment.

With little protection out there, it was everyone for themselves.

"Fuck him."

I fire the gun before Eric can say another word, but it takes a few minutes for my hands to stop shaking.

Eric's stare is unamused.

He looks at me out of the corner of his eye, driving as though we really are being chased by zombies, and his lips press together.

"Did you really have to get that flavor?"

"What? Strawberry? I like it," I answer brightly, feeling so much better than earlier. "Are you saying that because it reminds you of zombie blood?"

I say the last part with a grin, and Eric's exhale is heavy.

In his defense, the strawberry milkshake does look sort of zombie-ish. The workers had made it to thank us for shooting both the zombies, and Peter, the almost zombie. Eric declined his, snapping that the smell of the zombies was enough to make him never want to eat anything again, but I accepted immediately. After a day of driving, of seeing more living dead than I would have ever liked, of learning Peter probably would have kidnapped me, and being in the middle of nowhere with an unknown destination looming over us, I felt like I'd earned a milkshake. The girl rattled off a list of a flavors I could choose from while the guy moved the bodies out of the store, and for a single moment, things felt decidedly normal.

If you ignored the literal walking dead.

I left sipping on a swirl of pink and red ice cream, carefully stepping over sticky blood while Eric swore under his breath. He wasn't so much mad at the zombies, but that their blood got on his boots and he looked a little queasy. He side-eyed me when we got back in the car, and was silent for the next few minutes, until the road opened up from the forest into a less dense stretch. He turned the air on high, this time bothered by the smell of the corpses, and for several minutes, I froze until he felt better.

"Yes, it looks just like that." Eric's answer is dark, but not entirely annoyed. He looks at me again, shifting in his seat, and I hand him the milkshake.

"Here. You can admit you like ice cream."

"I don't!" He hisses, and it's amusing to watch him look insulted that I would dare think he'd like such a sugary drink. He does take it from me, and I watch carefully as he takes a single sip. He grimaces, like he's drinking straight up poison, and his swallow is exaggerated. "It's disgusting."

"No, it's not."

"Yes. It is," he takes another sip, swallowing with an ever more intense grimace, and I watch from my side of the patrol car.

There's something amusing about him, but what's even more amusing is how easy it is to exist alongside him. I've known him for a little over twenty-four hours now, but there's an unbreakable bond from being attacked and fleeing a town overrun by the infected. Even if he dumped me at the next rest stop, I'd always think of Lieutenant Coulter fondly, as the one who finally stopped Hazel and her one arm.

And, who let me shoot Peter in the head.

"Thanks. At least it got the taste of zombie out of my mouth," Eric mutters, tapping the radio. My stomach sinks when it begins scanning for a station because I know what's coming. Lots of people pleading for help. Screeching. Static. The occasional live voice, hinting this is getting bigger by the second and there's nothing that can be done to stop it. "I swear, those two hadn't been infected very long and they smelled worse than the others."

"They seemed...oddly aware." I pull my feet up, watching his fingers press a few more buttons. There's a crackle as the scanner connects, and we both listen to someone in a town far, far away, scream that something is eating someone's intestines in an upscale grocery store. "In the movies, they're always slow and stupid."

"Well," Eric pauses. "They aren't brilliant, but they're definitely not as dumb as I'd like them to be."

"Did Jason think they'd be smart?" I swirl the milkshake around, and the colors blur and swish. "He seems to know a lot about them. Like a zombie expert."

"We didn't discuss it in depth, but his assumption was they'd retain some brain activity. Something is driving them to consume human flesh." Eric changes lanes, and I brace myself for another drive down the mountain, or up a winding hill. "He's not an expert, but Harrison encouraged him to pursue all his passions. Which happen to include zombies, and how to fight them off."

"I hope I can meet him. Maybe we'll find him soon." I toy with the drink, and I hope my words don't sound hollow or fake.

Despite not knowing Eric very well, I like him. I like the safety of his patrol car, I like him being armed, and trusting me enough to shoot one of his guns, and I like the idea of his friends, out in the world, fighting zombies. If things have to be this way –chaotic and filled with the undead, and their far from delightful violence –I'd rather have a partner than be on my own.

I'll take a police Lieutenant searching for his friends and a safe zone which might not exist. I can even forgive my mother, sort of, for leaving me at home with nothing more than a note. It feels fitting that I've left her a note in return, though it's unlikely she'll ever read it. The farther away Eric drives, the less likely it seems that I'll be reunited with them, but there's no way anyone could have predicted this.

Or maybe they could have.

Maybe if someone had noticed something was wrong with Hazel weeks ago.

"Yeah. Maybe. If we find him."

Eric's answer is a grunt of mild approval. I doubt he really cares if I meet Jason or not, and he hasn't even told me anything about his other officer friend. Before I can ask, a call comes in asking for all available officers to respond.

"Anyone near Route 363 please respond. I repeat, anyone near Route 363 please respond. Officers needed in the area, arrived armed and ready. Proceed with extreme caution."

"Are we near there?" I ask, relieved when Eric shakes his head no. "Is every state…"

"Infected? It's looking that way. I only know what's going on in Lakeview and Haling. I guess we'll find out," he answers evenly, and the glossy bubble of optimism bursts. Eric glances in my direction, and his mouth returns to a fine line. "Look, at the next stop, I have to show you some things. If you're going to stay alive, you need to be a step ahead. I can give you a quick training. Nothing major, but enough that if we get separated, you won't die. At least not immediately."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I joke, but my stomach tenses unpleasantly. "I'll do my best. And yeah, whatever you can show me. Maybe I'll even save your life again."

Eric shakes his head.

He tilts it, looking like he's struggling not to roll his eyes, but I don't mind.

I turn the radio off so I can finish my milkshake without anyone screaming, and Eric doesn't turn it back on.

"Okay, lean back. Keep your stance even, one leg slightly in front. One leg to the side. Power comes from the back foot. You won't have much time, but if it comes down to it, you can pick a weak point and stab."

Eric is a natural teacher, though rough and impatient, and I bet he picked it up during his time as an officer, or maybe during his own training. I try to picture him in the academy, but the one in Haling Cove is a joke. Ian always let everyone pass, unless it was proven that they were a terrible person, or he found out they only wanted the job because they got free coffee at Melly's.

"Just stab them? Should I aim for the head?"

"The temple. But once you stab them, it's going to be nearly impossible to get the knife out. You'll have to knock them down, brace with your foot, and pull hard." Eric instructs, gesturing to the rotten zombie a good distance away, and I should be insulted.

We both know it's an easy target.

For one, it looks to be about a hundred years old. It has to be on be one of the first infected, because it's mostly a pile of bones and goo. No recognizable features except for a never not moving mouth, and one eye, barely attached. The zombie lies prone on the ground, moving weakly, and every so often, he makes the sound of a dying animal. He smells like a dying animal, too. While I stand there with Eric, mentally debating how hard I'd have to stab him, the breeze grazes past. It lifts the smell of him in our direction, and it's much worse than the ones in the McDonald's.

"So…you want me to stab…that?" I eye the zombie warily, and Eric nods.

"Yes."

"You really want me to stab it? Now?" I walk toward the zombie, sizing him up. I decide he's a guy, maybe my age, and much unluckier than me. "Do you even have a knife? Eric! His stomach is oozing something. Is this sanitary?"

Eric blinks.

He stands a few feet away, hands on his hips, looking at me in disbelief.

"You want to know if stabbing a zombie is sanitary? Are you serious right now, Carlen?"

"Everly," I remind him, as if we haven't just spent countless hours in the car together where he still never said my real name. The last hour was spent with me asking him about his police work and attempting to get to know him, and him avoiding every other question by grunting as a response. "And yeah. This dress is clean. I only brought so many."

"Wonderful," he mutters, and he rakes his fingers through his hair, like it's not plastered into place. "Great. Fan-fucking-tastic. The zombie apocalypse is upon us, my friends are missing, and I have you, not wanting to get your dress dirty. You'll definitely survive without me. Our odds are great. Getting better by the minute. You better start praying a swarm of them doesn't descend upon us."

"Do you have a napkin?" I glare at him, ignoring his cocky posture and unnecessary sarcasm, and I skip reminding him I've saved his ass twice. "I'll stab him, but I don't want to get it on me. And by the way, I could have let Landon bite you. He only stopped because I was there. So, I can take care of myself just fine."

I step away from the zombie, and I whirl around to also remind Eric I'd not only shot Ian, but Landon. I'd saved his life twice.

I don't get the chance.

Eric is beside me in a second, and he hands me a knife. It's cold and heavy, much larger and sharper than expected, and he pushes me none too gently at the blob. "Here. The rest of them won't be as slow as Greg, here. You'll have a single second to decide how you're going to kill them, and less than a second to do it."

"Wait…" I start to protest, but then I decide to go with it. I approach the zombie with some trepidation because it's still flailing around. One of its hands grazes my shoe, weakly trying to grab on, and my stomach begins to burn. The smell is putrid, like garbage that's been set on fire, and the milkshake threatens to come right back up. "Eric, wait no…I…."

It does.

I gag as the zombie moves, gushy skin slipping off its bones, and Eric jumps out of the way. To my horror, I throw up everything, and then some. I gag a few more times, heavy and violent heaving, that leave me shaking, and Eric looks on with a flash of sympathy.

"You okay?"

"No!" I wipe my mouth, hating the taste of bile and the zombie, and now I know what Eric was talking about. It feels like it's seeping into my skin, and I can't get rid of it. "It smells awful."

"Well, it's a rotting corpse. Of course, it smells awful. That's why I said you have to move fast."

"Did you take the zombie training class?" I ask, and I decide I'll stab a different, less vomit inducing zombie some other time. "Can we take a break? I need…some water or something."

"I have some in the car," Eric reaches for my arm, and his fingers find my wrist. They hover there, pressing carefully to make sure I'm alive, then he pulls me along. "We'll leave this guy. I don't think he's going anywhere."

I try not to look back at Greg or at Eric. I'm horribly embarrassed at throwing up, especially considering I'd just announced I would be fine, but Eric is unfazed. We walk to the car together, and he opens up the trunk. He returns with a bottle of water, and waits while I rinse my mouth out, then drink a few sips. I lean against the car while he steps a few feet away, and he surveys the area.

"Why didn't you get sick?" I call out, and I feel marginally better. "Why did I get sick? The others didn't smell that bad?"

"I told you not to drink that milkshake," he calls back, and he puts his hands on his hips like he's in an ad for being a police officer. "The older ones smell the worst. That was one of Jason's theories and something I will say I've noticed. I'm assuming it's because they've had longer to decompose. Easy to kill, but harder to get close to. They can still cause infections even at such an advanced state of decomposition."

"So why did you tell me to stab it?" I have the sudden urge to get back in the car, and I wish he'd stomp back over here and drive us somewhere I could lie down and pretend this day is going much differently. "Why not a less…dead zombie?"

He turns lazily.

His profile is sharp and defined, more so while he chews on his cheek. He eyes me up and down like he's taking notes, and his mouth eventually settles into a smirk.

"Because. If you want to stay alive, you have to be able to kill all of them," he pauses, and his eyes narrow. "Everly."

We don't stop for a while.

Eric drives quickly, slowing down only when the road twists or turns, but otherwise, he speeds along like he's got a deadline he's trying to beat. He's quiet; his attention is split between the road, occasionally listening to the radio searching for a connection, and watching me out of the corner of his eye. The mood is easy going and amicable, despite me having thrown up after getting too close to the zombie, and I dare say he's slightly more friendly than when we first met.

Eric encourages me to drink water, and every so often, he hands me a few crackers and insists I eat them. We stop a few times, but never for long. Once for Eric to stretch his legs, once when I started to feel queasy again, and once when we both were sick of listening to the radio scan in an endless loop.

We drive deep into the day, until the sky turns from blue, to yellow, to orange and pink, and the darkness starts to creep right in, settling over us like a heavy blanket.

We don't reach the safe zone, but we do reach the Lone Butte Golden Acorn Casino and Spa.

It's a tacky monstrosity. It's gold, peeling and flaking, but nonetheless, a beacon from the road, even if it looks like it smells of cigarettes and beer. I'm right about the smell. It hits me as I follow Eric inside, curious if he really wanted to stay here, and to my surprise, he does. He checks in with his badge, and the woman at the front desk is very flustered about his arrival. She keeps looking at him, perhaps afraid he'll shoot her if he doesn't get a room, or maybe she's enamored by the weary look on his face and the way I've inched closer to him.

I stand even closer, trying to see what she's typing, and he shoots me an exasperated look.

"Carlen, move over."

"Are you getting one room again?" I peer up at him, his hair still perfect but his expression annoyed, and his uniform stiff and sharp. He shows her his badge once more, maybe for some police officer discount that doesn't involve actual money, then proceeds to ignore me while explaining where he's heading and how as far as he knows, the area is clear. There's some small talk about the safe zones –she mentions a disturbing rumor that none of them exist, and Eric looks like he might smack her –and then the conversation takes a downturn into zombies.

Between clacking the keyboard and circling a million things on a piece of a paper, she cheerfully tells Eric she's seeing more zombies and less actual live human beings. I glance back at the large casino behind us, wondering what she considers the people gambling to be.

"Really? I see a lot of people in here. They all look alive to me," I point out, but she ignores me in favor of staring at Eric.

"I'm shocked you made it this far. Bill said he saw some in Ohius. It's an only hour from here." The woman clacks away at the keyboard, typing so fast her fingers are a blur. "You and your…wife haven't been bitten, have you?"

"No."

"No."

We both answer at the same time, and he makes no move to correct her assumption that we're married. He side-eyes me again, this time harder, and I smile sweetly.

"Okay, so fourth floor, room 424. Elevators are down the hallway. We'll call if anything happens, or we hear from anyone looking for an officer. The buffet is open until ten. If you start to experience any symptoms, we ask you reach out immediately. We have limited medical staff on hand, but our gift shop is open twenty-hour hours a day. We carry a wide variety of items, including family planning. It's behind the counter, if you need it."

I tilt my head at her, and I swear Eric's jaw is so tense it must be hard for him to speak.

When he does, it's very, very, very unfriendly. "We don't."

"Oh!" The woman's eyes widen, and I notice her nametag says Lauren. "Okay, well then… you can uh, if you need chips or sunscreen or anything…"

"Great, thanks." I rise up on my toes to reach for the packet, and I'm now familiar with it. It's similar to the one at the Black Mountain Inn, though far more gold. "Eric, should we get the bags?"

"I'll grab them. I'll meet you up there." He looks at me, and his expression is unreadable. "Are you okay to go up there alone?"

I stop at his words.

He looks down, his stare holding mine, and it hits me this would be the first time we will have been apart since we met. I find I have a sudden, weird attachment to him, and not just because he has all the guns. I hesitate, until he points to the gift shop and sighs.

"Wait there. I'll be right back."

"Okay."

I agree. I watch him leave, turning to cut through the casino floor and through the people crowded around someone winning. He shoots them an annoyed look, then vanishes through the large sliding doors. I try to see how they would lock, and when I come up with nothing, I leave the front desk and wander over to the gift shop.

To my surprise, it's enormous.

I walk through several rows of every kind of snack imaginable, followed by candy, pool accessories, medicine, and dozens of kinds of sodas. I browse through gossip magazines about celebrities I don't know, shirts with the golden acorn name and logo printed across, and a few swimsuits. I linger by the sundresses, reaching up to touch a pink one, slightly fancier than the one I have on, and I jump when someone clears their throat.

I turn to see Eric holding my bag and his, and he glances around suspiciously.

There's no one in here.

Only me, the lone worker playing a game on their phone behind the check-out counter, and a whole lot of golden keychains shaped like acorns.

"You ready?"

I nod. I then follow him out of the gift shop silently, looking back at the pink dress once, and feeling the faintest hint of reality smack me in the face when I realize I truly don't have any reason to buy it.

The room smells just like the last one.

I picture the cleaning crew coming in and wiping everything down with a generic cleaner, maybe something a little stronger, just in case anyone here was sick, before they made the bed and closed the curtains. This room is large, less compact and much brighter, but it gives way to the sad state of the hotel. Everything in here feels desperate, especially the furniture. There's a large bed in the middle of the room, flanked by two nightstands. The headboard is dark and high, and the sheets are a bright, unnatural gold.

The artwork on the walls is hideous.

Bold, gold strokes of paint are framed every few feet. They are intermixed with photos of people gambling, and when I look at Eric, he merely shrugs, and walks past me to put the bags down.

"What do we do now?" I stand to the side, trying to figure out his plans are. He keeps most of them in his head, only sharing them with me when absolutely necessary. "Do you want to –"

"We'll order dinner. I don't want to eat at a buffet," he answers, sounding grossed out. He kicks a chair out of his way, then drops down into it, and undoes the top button on his jacket. "Go wash the barf off yourself. I'll wait for you to order. The plan is the same as before: we spend the night here, and leave in the morning. Unless you've got an affinity for card games."

"I don't. Dinner sounds fine with me. I'm sort of hungry." I linger for just a second, not wanting Eric to stop talking. It feels safer when he does, like the world isn't spinning out of control. "Did you ever get ahold of Harrison? Or Jason?"

Eric's eyes flash at his friend's name. He shakes his head, the action sort of forlorn and defeated, and he undoes the second button. He has a shirt on beneath it, and it's strange to see white beneath his dark uniform.

"I didn't. I got a hold of someone who thought they had seen Harrison, and they gave me directions to where they think he would have gone. Our best bet is still the safe zone. It's four hours from here. Maybe five, depending on the surrounding area. From what they told me, it's not…great."

"No?" I have little knowledge of the safe zone, only the vague idea that I would be able to stay there, and possibly be reunited with my family. "Did something happen?"

He's silent. Eric's fingers still, and he contemplates something. I have a feeling it's information he doesn't want to tell me, but he does.

"Communication is spotty at best, and all of this is a guess. The commander in charge of the safe zone has gone missing. However, the zone is the closest to where I think Harrison went, and there's a slim chance he's there. It's a gamble either way. All the towns nearby have high levels of infection. Driving through is considered a risk, but there's no other option."

I hate that he sounds unenthused, and I hate it even more, when he screws his eyes shut and then blinks them back open with a heavy exhale.

"Or, depending on the levels of infection, we wait here and see how it plays out. I'll radio someone in the morning, and maybe we'll have some good news."

"I think we should try it. He's probably there. And you can just drive fast. We don't have to stop in the towns," I suggest, like my opinion holds any value to Eric. He does nod, slowly, and watches as I walk toward the bathroom.

I make a quick stop to check the lock –one electronic, and the other a large, brass one that slides across the top –and the reassurance feels good.

I feel even better after my shower, when I hear Eric talking to someone, and he lowly tells them we're a day out. He says a few other things, like how many bullets he's fired, how many zombies we've come across, and yes, he's been eating and he's had great luck finding places to stay.

He goes on to talk about the next leg of his journey –a mere four hours into a town called Prinsway –and confirmation that he's leaving tomorrow. He hesitates for only a second, wavering over his estimated arrival time, and I hear him say my name along with a demand to mark that I'm to be associated with him.

He hangs up without a goodbye, and his shoulders rise up, tense and unhappy.

This time, there's a slight awkwardness.

I brush my teeth beside Eric, where he stands staring down his reflection like it's going to fight him. I rinse my mouth while he examines his haircut, still looking short and immaculate, but the top waves slightly. He combs it once more, then gives up and mutters that he's going to bed.

His own shower wasn't long ago; he took one after dinner, after he had thrown our trays outside the door, and wandered out shirtless and antsy. We spent a good hour sitting on the bed beside each other, but with a careful amount of space between us. He flipped through channels on the TV in hopes of finding something to watch, but the only thing on was the news. Each station had an emergency broadcast going, and a pale looking anchor would read a list of signs and symptoms. It felt like ages since the first news briefing about the zombies, and I finally got ready for bed, unable to listen to it any longer.

There wasn't anything new.

Just the same stories, the same recommendations, the same warnings.

Now, as I lie beside Eric, far enough away that I couldn't kick him if I tried, but close enough that if a zombie burst through the door, I could wake him. He lies on his back, staring at the ceiling, sighing every so often, like the weight of the world is resting on his chest.

"Are you okay?" I peer at him in the dark, from the safety of my own pillow. I'm lying on my side with my back to the window, and it feels less dangerous this way. Eric is closer to the door, and it's mildly comforting knowing if someone were to get in, he'd be bitten first. "Was it the barf? That came out of nowhere. I didn't feel sick until we saw that old zombie."

"What?" He turns to look at me, and his expression makes me think he's forgotten I'm beside him. "No, I don't care that you threw up. I've seen much worse. Trust me."

"Okay, good," I answer quietly. "Is it not knowing where your friends are? You seem…. not happy."

He doesn't answer for a minute. The hotel room hums, and if I listen hard enough, I swear I can hear the elevator doors dinging. The third time they ding, Eric turns. He's much larger this way, and when he stares down at me, he's somehow both more intimidating in the dark, and less intimidating, since I can't really see him.

"Are you afraid?"

"Of what?" I shift slightly closer; not enough that he'll notice, but enough that I can see his face better. "The zombies? Yes, I am. Aren't you?"

"No." He shrugs. "I'm not afraid of anything."

"Everyone is afraid of something," I shrug back, and hotel seems to agree with me. It's like the room darkens, doing it's best to keep the moody atmosphere. "Are you scared of heights? The dark? Small spaces?"

"No. I'm afraid of little girls asking me a million questions when they should be sleeping," he retorts, but there's no real malice behind it. "I told you, I'm not afraid. I went through the police academy at eighteen, and I learned really quickly how to turn my fears off. There's no time to be afraid when you have my job."

"Did you see a lot of things in Lakeview?" I yawn in the middle of my question, and I must be getting tired. It looks like Eric is much closer to me, and when I bring my knees up, it feels like I might hit him. "Haling is boring. We never had much crime. Maybe someone stealing groceries if they were short a paycheck, or someone getting into a fight. The worst was a dispute over who stole someone's pool noodles. It got violent when they shot them with a bb gun."

He snorts.

"Sounds exciting," Eric snickers, but he quickly turns serious. "Lakeview could be violent. There were plenty of calls the public didn't know about. We tried to keep things between us, to keep up the reputation. Daniel didn't like anyone thinking the town wasn't perfect."

"Daniel is your dad?"

My eyes close for a split second. I pry them open in time to catch him looking annoyed, and he yawns, too. "Yes."

"Did he…promote you?" I take a wild leap with this theory, though really, the idea is no different than Ian promoting up his friend's son. "You must be a good officer."

"I'm good at what I do," Eric answers evasively. "Daniel is, too. It's not brain surgery."

I nod into the darkness. I don't really have an answer, for I don't know his father, and it's fairly unlikely we'll meet, but I have the feeling he's a good man. I also have the feeling Eric is going to ask me what I was doing in Haling Cove, and the answer is embarrassing.

I'm right.

"Where did you work? At the school?" Eric finally asks, tiredly, and it's small talk that belongs in a car and not a bed. He waits for my answer while I pull at the sheets out of pure avoidance, and I hate that he's going to think less of me.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" He repeats. "You were really doing nothing? I thought you were head of the neighborhood watch. You knew a lot about Hazel."

It's my turn to roll my eyes.

The action takes more effort since I'm tired, and I wonder if he'll want to leave early tomorrow.

"I was supposed to start school in the fall," I pause, and in the dark, it's easier to confess this than if we were in the patrol car. "My mom asked if I'd wait a semester and help her with my little brother, and I said yes. I unenrolled myself and was going to stay home. Maybe work somewhere in the town at night. I don't know. Certainly…not as a police officer."

My confession hangs between us; I wait for him to let out a bark of laughter, rich with disappointment that the girl he's chosen to save from the apocalypse is absolutely no one, but it doesn't come. He nudges my hand with his, and it's like he can tell I'm mortified.

"Well, you're a little short to be an officer. But it's kind of you to help your mom."

It's all he says.

His eyes shut and he doesn't move his hand. There's no grand goodnight, or declaration that I should go to sleep and stop bugging him. He simply falls asleep, facing me, after telling me I'm kind for agreeing to keep Zander busy while my mom worked long hours.

I fall asleep feeling way better than expected.

It's been a long time since anyone said or felt anything kindly toward me. I've always doubled as a stand in parent for my mom and dad. After Forrest left, I was the chosen one to watch Zander, or make sure Paisley and Holly did their homework. My identity was no longer my own, but a ghost of a guardian, resigned to living a life planned out for her out of sheer necessity.

I fall asleep thinking how unlike this is from anything my parents had planned for me, and I can't say I mind one bit.

"How much have you spent there, Carlen? A hundred dollars?"

"A hundred acorns. Get it straight…Coulter." I look up from the machine I'm sitting cross legged at, and the waitress drops off a soda for me. She ogles Eric for a moment, smiling at his dark shirt and dark pants, but she scampers away when he actually looks at her. "I only put in a dollar and I'm up to…ten thousand acorns. So, I'm…winning, right?"

He smirks.

It's a nice change from his scowl from earlier. Eric's plans for leaving The Lone Butte Golden Acorn fell apart when he woke up a few days ago, and it had left him pretty cranky.

After falling asleep with my hand touching his, I woke up to his phone ringing, repeatedly, and him snapping at someone. I would have thought he'd be thrilled to have a phone call, but he wasn't.

Turns out it was his mother, and he didn't really want to talk to her. He snarled at her not to bother him again, hissing her name when she protested, and I caught a few snippets of their conversation.

She sounded nice.

She told him she was worried, that someone named Ashley had contacted her looking for Eric, and the last anyone had heard, he was still in Lakeview. He corrected her just enough to say he was nowhere near Lakeview, and he was going to find Jason and Rylan. He said their names sharply, especially Rylan's. His defense of them sounded personal, like she thought he should be back in Lakeview, boarded up in his apartment, or shooting zombies from his balcony, but definitely not out on the road. He hung up when the woman protested that he should come home and stay with her, and he politely told Blythe to fuck off.

He then threw the phone aside and went back to sleep.

An hour later, we both woke up to the phone ringing again. It was an officer from Prinsway, informing Eric the safe zone had gone to shit.

He sat upright, whacking me in the face with the sheets as he thew them off, and he jumped out of bed. Whoever he spoke to must have had good intel, because Eric returned ten minutes later, and grouchily informed me we were staying here for a few days. There was a strain of something going through Prinsway, and he was advised to hold off on showing up. They were hoping to have a handle on it, hopefully within the next forty-eight hours, but they'd stay in contact.

This meant we were stuck here, in the incredibly themed casino hotel and yet to be found spa, with plenty of free time.

Eric chose to spend his time working out. He found the hotel fitness center, unused and deserted, and spent hours trying to become more fit. I chose to wander around, exploring the endless hallways and floors, until I found myself drawn toward the bright lights, dinging sounds, and rows of flashing machines. It only took me a few minutes to find an empty one, and it gleefully accepted the dollar I fed it. I tried to remember how Eric had said money would have no value, but for a few hours, I didn't care.

While Eric worked off his aggression, I killed time by gambling my way into an acorn fortune.

I had no real clue what I was doing, or if I was really winning. The numbers went up, occasionally down, but mostly up, and by the third day of staying here, I was pretty sure I was a millionaire. Before I could become a billionaire, Eric showed up, bursting my bubble by pointing out I wasn't actually old enough to be playing the slot machines, and that if things kept going the way he thought they would, I'd have no way of spending my fortune.

"It's the apocalypse," I point out, reaching around him to pick up my drink. It's gingery and sweet, and the third one I've had since I've been down here. "No one is going to ask for my ID. If they do, you can cash my ticket in for me."

"I'm not even going to waste my time pointing out how that's illegal," Eric comments dryly, leaning against another machine to watch me. "Or how you should probably take a break."

I pause, my finger over the button labeled bet, and I smile widely. "If you're jealous of my newfound wealth, you can just say so."

"Yeah, real jealous of you and your acorn fortune." Eric retorts. "Come on. Let's go eat. We're leaving in the morning and I thought you might want to experience the finest dining your wealth can buy. They have a restaurant in the back that isn't a buffet."

"Are you serious?" I push bet, and the acorns whirl across the screen, luring me in with their spinning and flashing. "I thought you only wanted to eat in the room."

Over the past few days, I've learned more about Eric. The start of our trip was chaotic and intense, and a few days off was a nice way to balance it out. During my time in the hotel, I got to observe Eric in a more natural state. He ate whatever he deemed acceptable –a salad, chicken, fruit, vegetables and never desert – worked out, drank coffee, watched the news, looked annoyed at his phone, and repeatedly tried to contact Jason. He looked put out when I was tired before he was ready to go to bed, and the unspoken rule was he stuck to his side, I stuck to mine, but we went to bed together.

We barely knew each other, but there was no issue with staying in one room. Once he turned the lights off, it was just him and I, facing one another. I got a solid one or two questions out of him. Last night, I asked if what his mom did. Through clenched teeth, he told me she was a psychologist, but her specialty was being obnoxious. I tried not to laugh, because I thought he was joking.

He wasn't.

He was dead serious, and he answered my second question –did they get along –by telling me if I didn't go to sleep, he'd let Greg come find me.

I also learned he had an endless supply of hair gel, and if he didn't use it, his hair did not stay in place.

And he didn't seem to care that every night, I'd woken up closer and closer to him.

"Yeah, well, I thought a change of scenery would be good for you. Plus, it doesn't look half bad." He cocks his head, like he's demanding I say yes, but we both know my options are limited.

I either eat at the restaurant with him, or upstairs while the news anchor yammers on about the zombies.

I press cash out on the machine, and I hand the ticket to Eric with a smile.

Turns out, I'm hardly a billionaire.

I'm not even a millionaire.

Eric does cash my ticket out for me, though no one is even watching as he feeds it into the machine, and he snorts when he hands me six dollars.

"Nice work, Carlen. I guess dinner is on you."

He snickers at the look on my face, then harder when I shoot him a dirty look. It's not very effective considering he's so smug, and my short-lived career as a professional gambler comes to a disappointing end.

The restaurant is as nice as I'm expecting.

Tacky, gold, and with a few slot machines you could play while you waited, but not godawful.

I sit across from Eric in a booth, actually enjoying my dinner. There's an absurd normalcy to tonight, and a routine in eating with Eric. Hidden away in the back of the hotel, it's like the world is not falling apart. There is no sign of the zombie apocalypse here. There are lots of other people dining, a few men and women arguing over who should pay for dinner, and dozens of waitstaff. There are no clocks, no tvs with the news blaring, and nothing that would alert anyone to the fact that flesh eating zombies were roaming the streets a single town away.

I let myself go along with it.

I eat a few bites of vanilla ice cream while Eric hands our server his card, and his gaze returns to me, sharper than before.

"What? Do you want my six dollars?" I half joke, and when his face tenses, I panic. I try to think of all the meals he's bought, and I decide maybe I should have paid. "I can go get my wallet."

"Are you sure you should be eating that?" He eyes my ice cream warily, but quickly looks at me. His stare is different this time, like he's just realized we've taken a miniature vacation together, and it must be decidedly unlike him. "Don't you think –"

"Are you sick of me?" I interrupt, and his expression stays neutral. "I'm sorry."

The panic is heavy.

It settles in my chest, awash with guilt and the reoccurring feeling of grief. I never grew up feeling unwanted, but I'm by no means Eric's responsibility. He offered to take me to a safe zone, not spend days holed up in a casino, answering my questions or paying for me to eat dessert.

"I'm really sorry. I can pay. I'll go get my purse. I have a card and I have –" I fumble to get up, realizing I've made a mistake in thinking this was fun. It might have been fun for me, but Eric has a job to do, and this isn't it. "I'll um, I'll be right back."

"Sit down. I was…." He pauses, swallowing like he'd like to bite down his own words. "I was making a joke. I already paid for the dinner. I'm not concerned about that. I know this situation is…unusual. Plus, it'll be over soon. We'll be in Prinsway tomorrow, and they'll…help locate your family."

"Oh," I sit back down, but the panic doesn't go away, not even when he looks strangely disappointed. It's fleeting; his expression immediately returns to dead serious, and while there's a strange tension in the air, it's not entirely coming from Eric. "Well, um, in that case, I'm really glad you brought me with you. I can't imagine what would happen if I was still in Haling, so, thank you."

Eric cocks his head.

His eyes lock on me, and he only looks up because the server appears, looking agitated. He stops by our table, and in the background, a man in a suit watches, looking sweaty and pale.

"Sorry, sir. There's an issue with our credit processing system. Um, they uh, it won't run the card."

"What?" Eric tears his stare from me to glare at him. "What do you mean it won't run my card? Just run it. There's more than enough to cover dinner."

"It's not just yours. Management is having us bill everything to the rooms. There's something wrong with the system. It went down and…the one in the kitchen is down, too." He pauses, and Eric and I both look up as the lights flicker. "I'm uh, supposed to tell you to enjoy your evening."

"Shit," I whisper, because the darkness comes at once.

The casino loses power, and a second later, the entire hotel is engulfed in dark.


	5. Cabin Fever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to Erin for editing!   
> Enjoy the chapter and have a lovely weekend! :)

"Don't move."

Eric commands from across the table, and it's a smart decision. Around us, the restaurant descends into chaos. Less chaos than if zombies were actually in here, roaming around and picking out their dinner, but it's still a mess. There are panicked shrieks, a few screams, and plenty of trays and glasses crashing over as people stand up and try to leave.

A second later, the lights turn back on, but they're weak. They flicker and wane, until they stay on permanently, and the dining room is dimly lit. The lights cast eerie shadows over the tables, giving everyone a haunting glow. Across from me, Eric's stare is intense. He looks calculating, but serious, and he lowly tells me we're leaving.

"Come on. We're going to get our things and get out of here." He stands first, his fingers pressing on the tabletop as he waits for me, as the table behind us resumes eating their dinner. The rest of the people in the restaurant calm down, but Eric does not. "It's emergency lighting. Something happened to the main power. We need to get out now."

"Okay," I fumble to get out of the booth, and Eric helps by yanking me up by my arm.

I hit my shin on the bar beneath the table when my foot catches, and I stumble getting out of the booth as quickly as Eric would like. When I have regained my balance, he hurries me out of the dining room, past the sweaty looking restaurant manager, and back out into the main casino. He leads us towards the elevators we took coming down here, but shakes his head and points to the stairs just to the side.

"If the power goes out while we're in it, we're stuck. We'll take the stairs. Grab your things, we're getting out of here."

"All because the power is out?" I ask, but before I can blink, he's through the stairwell and half a flight of stairs ahead. "Eric! Wait! I ate all that ice cream!"

I scramble to keep up, swearing, and muttering that maybe ordering desert wasn't such a brilliant idea, nor is wearing a sundress and untied shoes. By the time we reach the fourth floor, my hair is a mess, and Eric holds the door open so I can stumble through.

"We have to hurry. There's a generator for the property, as well as back-up generators. They're meant for short term emergencies, and who knows when the last time they were serviced," Eric explains, and room 424 suddenly seems incredibly far away. "Judging by the décor, it probably barely passed inspection. It likely won't last long."

"And you know this how?" I try to keep up with him, and we reach the door at the same time. Eric swipes his card, and it unlocks, though the sound is weak. We look at each other, and it's obvious the power won't last long. "If it locks while we're in there…"

"We'll prop it open. Come on. Grab your things. We're making a stop on the way out, I'll get gas here, and then we're heading –"

He doesn't manage to finish his sentence when an announcement screeches through the hallway. It's so loud it hurts, and the stressed out voice of from someone downstairs fills my ears.

"Attention Lone Butte Golden Acorn Casino and Spa Guests…uh, this is an emergency broadcast. We are currently experiencing um, electrical issues. We advise all guests to make their way to their rooms, and we will issue vouchers good for two dinners…three hours…. free parking, so long as you stay in your room until the issue is fixed. Wait! Wait, no! Fuck, fuck, no! No! HELP!"

The voice gives way with a shriek. There connection cuts in and out, a mechanical snap with each pause, and finally a second, blood curdling scream. Eric and I get to work as fast as we can, and within minutes, we have everything we need; our entire life is currently packed in a few bags, and he carries them both. We leave silently. His only hesitation is when he lowly asks if I have everything I need, and he waits for me to nod. When I do, he relaxes a fraction of an inch, and we head back down the hallway.

It's filled with people.

I had assumed our particular floor was deserted, but now there are tons of guests swarming each door. They swipe their key cards frantically, and the faint smell of death lingers in the air. I'm pushed forward as I walk, and there's a split second where I'm shoved between a couple arguing over who has the correct key. I'm jerked back by Eric, and he pulls me against his side, swearing when the person shoots him a dirty look and begs for him to help.

He darkly informs them he doesn't work here while his fingers curl into my ribcage.

We make it back to the stairwell relatively unscathed, and our descent is much faster. I follow on his heels, keeping up as best I can, and he bursts back onto the ground floor. He makes a beeline for the gift shop, and once inside, Eric ransacks the place. He tosses me breakfast bars, water, a few sodas, chips, a package of cookies, and whatever else he can grab. I wait for someone to yell that he has to pay for all of this, but the lone employee is nowhere to be found.

He grabs a few more things, all important: medicine, hand sanitizer, two first aid kids, rope, matches, and a bunch more items I don't see. He grabs a few t-shirts, and when I stare at him, taking a single second while the casino descends into total chaos, he rolls his eyes.

"In case you barf again. I know you only have so many dresses."

He says that part with a snicker, and the weird feeling from earlier is gone.

We hightail it to the patrol car, one gold acorn key chain and several packages of cookies richer, but alive.

We don't head to Prinsway.

I know we aren't going there, because something about Eric's posture is off. I watch him from the car while he pumps gas, then fills two extra tanks in his trunk. He does his best to hurry, but he still surveys the area with a funny look on his face.

It's probably because behind us, the parking lots is a free for all.

Turns out, most of the casino guests weren't pacified by the hotel's announcement. I watch two cars smash into each other as they fight to get out of one lane first, and another smash into a third and fourth as they try to cut around them. There's a billow of smoke, then fire, and Eric slides into the driver's seat right as one driver tries to steal the other's car.

In the distance, stumbling through the large, oversized, gold doors, are the undead.

Death comes in three; victim after victim, each one followed by the older, more rotten zombie who brought about the infection. They stumble out into the lot in droves, far more infected than I would have imagined.

Eric drives out of the hotel lot a different way, around the back and out a service exit, and onto the highway. He drives faster when the radio comes on, crackling for an officer –any available officer—to respond, and he does.

He informs the dispatcher he's just left The Lone Butte Golden Acorn Casino and Spa, and he won't be returning anytime soon.

The wide-open road seems to beckon to Eric.

Not in the traditional sense. He doesn't seem like someone who wants to drive endlessly or stop at a few Quick marts for burnt coffee while the clock on the dashboard blinks eleven pm, but in a different way. In an easy, end of world, appreciative way, because out here, there are no zombies.

At least that I can see.

"Are you tired?"

I sit beside him, handing him a donut every so often. I had taken the pack from the gift shop, feeling guilty about shoplifting, even though I knew there was no way to pay, but I also liked how rebellious it felt. The old Everly never took anything that didn't belong to her, but this Everly –the one left behind to fend off Hazel but was now doing something much more exciting –she was brave enough to take the donuts.

Plus, they were actually really good. They were sweet and powdery, and I liked it when Eric accepted one. He refused most, but his will power somewhat ended as the night stretched on, and so did the road. We come to a fork where the highway splits, and he chooses to go right.

"Yeah, we have two more hours to the next major town. We can try stopping or…" he trails off, and his grey eyes find mine. "We can pull over and sleep for a few hours, or I can drive as long as I can. Do you know how to drive?"

"Sort of," I lie, but he knows it. His stare stays on me, and he sighs. "I could try. Or…maybe you can show me when it's not pitch black."

"Yeah, maybe." He agrees, halfhearted and not at all enthused. "Do me a favor. Try Jason again. Call, text, see if he answers. If he doesn't, pull up the map and see what town we're coming up on."

"Sure."

I take his phone carefully, and it opens easily. A few clicks later, I press on Jason's name, and we wait while the phone rings. It eventually goes to a voicemail, and even I feel disappointed at the lack of answer. I send him a text –asking if he's alright and where he is, and to respond if he can. Then I sit there, and I don't look at the map right away, because, for once, Eric is distracted. Instead, I open up his photos, and I carefully angle myself away from him, buying a few precious seconds before he can snap that I should be looking at something else.

His photos are very telling.

And revealing.

The first dozen I swipe through are work related. They are all zombies. Zombie heads. Zombie bodies. Him standing by a zombie, looking disgusted. Several severed hands. A leg with a large bite mark, followed the foot that I'm assuming belong to that leg. One of his desk, without a trace of anything personal on it, mostly paperwork. Several pictures of files. More paperwork. An award, another award, and a certificate of achievement signed by his father.

I hit the jackpot after that. There are a few of him and a man I'm assuming is his father, followed by one with his mother. They're a nice looking family; a little stuck up maybe, and definitely intimidating, but nice. His mother is slender and blonde, and his father is tall, and has the same haircut as Eric. He has glasses on in this picture, and a happy, genuine smile. His mother's grin seems phony or rushed, like someone took the photo and told her to smile at the last second.

The next picture makes me scowl.

It's Eric out at a dinner with his friends. I recognize Jason, grinning with a beer in each hand, but I don't recognize the girl beside Eric. She's clinging onto him, sort of pressed against his side as she desperately tries to get in the picture, and she is, unfortunately, very pretty.

She's tall and blonde, her hair a shade lighter than Eric's, and curled in a mesmerizing way. She's older than me, dressed in a far more revealing outfit than my sundress, and it's not pink. It's red. As red as her nails, her lips, and the color I'm seeing at the way she has her claws wrapped around his arm in the next picture.

"You look mad over there, Carlen. Did you find the name of the town? Did Jason answer? Or are you mourning your lost fortune?"

Eric's voice is even, unbothered and casual, and I shake my head. I'm a little surprised at his joke, but it makes me smile. "No, he didn't. I'm looking up the town now. And…maybe if things get really bad, we'll head back there. At least we know they have donuts."

He lets out a huff of laughter. I keep going, scrolling through his photos until I find a picture of Eric shirtless, and I stop before I can decide if I think the girl took it or not. She must be Ashley, but I have no clue if she's his girlfriend or not. My assumption is she isn't, because he said he wasn't going back to see her, and if she was important, he would.

I exit out of his photos before he can answer me, and click on maps. It's not the map I have on my phone, and I stupidly realize I haven't thought to check my phone at all. I sit up straighter, because I have no idea where it is.

"What's wrong? Does it not work? The satellites where it pulls from should be functioning. Unless the zombies are in space now."

"No, I totally forgot I had a phone!" I gasp, and I look around frantically. "It was in my sweater. I don't know where it is!"

"I put the bags in the back," Eric glances at me, and the panic dulls to low roar. "Did you bring a charger?"

"No," I sink back, and my insides twist. "I don't think so."

"We'll look for one," he answers off handedly, and he points to the phone in my hands. "Is there anything coming up? Gas station? Restaurant? Motel? I know the town is two hours away, but there might be something sooner. You should be able to see the casino as a landmark."

"Um, there's…." I click on the map, and it shows me several locations. Most are a good hour away, but there's a motel at the very edge of a tiny town. "There's a motel named Venture Valley Bed and Breakfast. It's in a really small town. If you don't want to stop there, there's a major city two hours past it. Are you thinking they're all infected?"

Eric chews on the side of his cheek. He mulls this over, changing lanes for no reason, other than to stay awake, and he finally exhales heavily.

"Either option is a gamble. We can stop in the first one, and they might not have been hit by the outbreak since they're a small town, but there's a chance that others will head there, too. We can keep going in hopes that the larger city has resources. They might not have a safe zone, but there's a chance they'll have some sort of fire or police department still active." He pauses, because his phone rings, and Jason's name flashes across the screen. "Shit, answer it! Carlen!"

He roars my name, and I hit answer before he can veer off the road. I say hello hesitantly, and Jason answers with a burst of laughter.

"Eric! Eric, where the fuck are you!? Dude! I've been trying to call you! I have no reception out here!" He laughs, and it's infectious. Wherever he is, it's noisy, and someone beside him yells Eric's name, followed by some loud whooping. "Hello?"

"Hi," I answer, and Eric is torn between keeping the car on the road or yanking the phone from my hands. "Hi, is this Jason?"

I'm met with silence.

Stunned, confused silence, until he snickers.

"Um, yes. This is Jason. Who is this?"

"I'm Everly! Eric and I met in Haling Cove," I answer brightly, and Eric groans from the driver's seat. "He's driving right now. Do you want to talk to him? Oh wait, I should ask, where are you? Can I also ask how you know all that stuff about zombies? I read your blog. I found it really informative."

"Whoa, okay, hold on," Jason sounds absolutely delighted. He must have turned away because I can hear him talking to someone. "He's alive! And get this –he's with some girl. She said her name is Everly and she likes my blog!"

"Who is she? Where are they? Is she a zombie?"

Someone else begins talking, followed by several others chiming in. The questions are fast and furious, including how old I am, how tall I am, and where are we. Someone asks if Eric has finally taken a wife, and someone else jokes that it took until a zombie apocalypse for him to find love. Before I can politely inform them Eric certainly isn't in love with me, Jason tells them to shut up.

He then asks me if we're near New Mexico, and how fast Eric is driving.

I don't get to answer any of them. Eric reaches over impatiently, so I hand over the phone, and he grunts out an unimpressed hello.

"Where the fuck are you? I've been trying to get a hold of you for days. I went to Haling. The place was overrun with those dead fuckers. I went back to Lakeview but everyone was infected. Max and Linda are both dead, and no else was there. Daniel was gone. We were heading to the safe zone, but they said there was an outbreak and to wait a few days. We've been at a casino but they lost power and my guess is the infection has completely spread there by now. We left not too long ago." Eric tries to fill Jason in quickly, and it's easy to pick up on his frustration. "We're heading east. Toward…Venture Valley."

Wherever Jason is, there are a lot of people speaking all at once. I can't make much of the conversation out. I do pick up on the relief in Eric's posture; his shoulders relax, his jaw isn't so tight, and he speeds up, still heading toward the next town. He listens to whatever Jason is saying silently, and when he slows the car down, he looks at me.

For a split second, I think he's going to pull over and tell me to get out.

He doesn't.

He gestures for me to take the phone, right after he snaps a goodbye to Jason and tells him he's glad he's alive.

"Wait, let me talk to Everly!" I hear Jason's protest, tiny in the speaker, and I answer before he hangs up. "Okay, let me just say it, it's so weird to hear that you're with Eric. It's blowing my mind. Eric is the last person in the world to pick up a random girl. Do you know him?"

"No," I shake my head, and to my surprise, the sign for Venture Valley comes into view. A large, proud sign reads Population 850, and someone has crossed it out to write a 1. Then crossed that out to write a 4. Then crossed the whole thing out to write 846. It announces that it's a good twenty miles ahead still, but it feels optimistic. "I saved him from getting bitten. Then he saved me from one armed Hazel. My whole town is overrun by the zombies."

"One arm. Was she still fairly agile?" Jason's curiosity is piqued. "Were they fast in Haling? I warned Eric, they're not as slow as everyone thinks. I've killed at least fifteen since this whole thing started."

"Really?" I have to admit, it's impressive. "I've only killed two."

He lets out a low whistle. "Dang! Has Eric proposed yet? He's got a thing for girls who can kill people. I'm kidding. Swear. He's not a serial killer. You're safe with him. Mostly."

I glance at Eric out of the corner of my eye, and he's doing his best to pretend he isn't listening. "He hasn't yet. Should I call you if he does?"

Jason laughs again. I immediately like him, and I decide if I do meet him, we'll probably get along really well.

"Yes. I'm gonna try to get to Venture Valley but I'm a few states over. I told Eric to sit tight for a few days. I've got Karl and –"

The signal drops.

My disappointment is immediate, but Eric gently pries the phone from my fingers, and powers it off. He then plugs it into the charger and shakes his head.

"Don't worry. I know where he is. He's with Daniel, and some people from the military. They want us to stay here for a few days, and we'll head toward Texas. This is the first informative contact in days."

"Texas?" I'm surprised, but not entirely so. I have no real clue where we are, but for some reason, it doesn't bother me as much as I would have thought. "Okay, so we're staying…at the Venture Valley Bed and Breakfast?"

"I guess."

Eric's mood shifts. He wavers somewhere between relief at having spoken to his friend, and disappointment at being states away.

I share his sentiments.

We run out of donuts a good twenty minutes before we reach the motel, and from the looks of it, they do not have a gift shop.

In all the years of my life, I had never stayed at any sort of hotel until I met Eric.

Now I stand with him at the check in desk, and it's obvious the clerk dislikes us. His apprehension of giving us a room is understandable; we showed up in hurry, I'm so tired it's hard to stand up straight, and Eric's badge doesn't seem to reassure the clerk that he is an officer, and yes, the patrol car is his.

"We've had a lot of…interesting characters coming through over the past few days." The clerk types slowly. His name tag reads Stanford, and he's oddly uptight considering the Venture Valley Bed and Breakfast is as unappealing as the Gold Acorn was. Maybe more. I hate to shatter his opinion of this fine establishment, but I'd almost rather sleep in the car. "Do you need two rooms or—"

"One."

Eric interrupts him. His tone is firm, even when the man eyes me warily.

"I'll need an extra deposit for her. We don't normally allow…minors. They tend to destroy the rooms if left unsupervised."

I blink.

"Wait, you think I'm going to trash your hotel? I'm not a minor. And this is place is—"

Eric stops me before I can announce what I really think of the taxidermy laden hell hole. He pulls me against his side, holds on tightly, and throws Stanford one tight, mean smile. "One room. Three days max. I appreciate your help with this matter."

"And if I can't help?" Stanford looks at me, and I do my best to keep my smile even and unwavering. "Oh, I see."

It's only because Eric is armed, and this man presumably is not, that he slides us a single room key. He looks down at me, and my dismay is enough to make Eric reach for the gun. Visions of Stanford begging for his life dance through my head, and I suddenly wonder if Eric walks the line between good cop and bad cop.

In this moment, I'll take whatever kind of cop he is.

"I'll uh, be here, if you two need anything." Stanford changes his attitude, but Eric doesn't let go.

He keeps his arm around my side until we reach the room, and only then does he pull away.

This time, the night is dark and unkind.

After a week of zombies, my brain chooses to replay everything that's happened with a heightened sense of intensity. I lie facing Eric with my eyes screwed shut, trying to forget about Hazel. My avoidance of what's really happening has been fantastic; caught up in being on the road with Eric, I've chosen to ignore the trauma of watching a girl only a year older than me, lumber through my house missing a limb after my family left me behind. I've neglected to deal with shooting a zombie in the head, a man who wanted to kidnap me, or the very real reality of zombie made of bones and goo, oozing his way to infect me.

It's why this hotel takes a turn for the worse.

The ancient wallpaper is dull and torn, the carpet smells like too many artificial cleaners, and the noises from the outside slip in. There's a branch hitting the window that sounds like zombie nails scratching to get in, creaking footsteps from a nosy guest or maybe Stanford himself, and the groan of the bed when Eric shifts. He's not really asleep either, but my guess is his thoughts are far unlike mine.

Always calculating and planning, he sighs and adjusts his legs, until he realizes I'm not asleep.

"What's wrong? You waiting for the desk guy to come check on you?"

His voice is rough; it hides his exhaustion –the unspoken tiredness from knowing everything about surviving the apocalypse and being the only one who knew where to go –but it belies how quiet he really is. I open my eyes when he turns to face me, much larger and stronger, and his fingers move slowly. They nudge mine, until I really look at him.

He knows something is wrong.

In the dark, his face is sharp angles and a defined jaw, lips slightly parted.

"Everly…"

My name is funny sounding coming from him. I've grown accustomed to him barking my last name, because it sounded like someone who would be his partner. Maybe in his mind, Carlen is stronger and faster, while Everly is tripping over her shoes and trying to make small talk while he drives.

"It's not going to end anytime soon, is it?" I blink back the burn of tears I refuse to let fall. I won't cry in front of him. He's too strong and disciplined, and I've already proven to be too human for him. The memory of our last dinner together pricks at my skin, and I still feel stupid for assuming he was enjoying any of this. "The zombies…the driving…the infection. It's not stopping anytime soon, is it?"

"No," he answers gruffly, and he moves. He's suddenly closer than before, too close. "Not for a while. Not until we can get somewhere safe. They're working to fix this, but it's just the beginning. If we stay ahead of it, we'll be fine. That's all. We just have to stay ahead."

"Do you trust them? The…other officers and the government, or whoever is at the safe zone?" I pause when his fingers touch mine, and he's way warmer than I am. "What if the safe zone doesn't exist? What if we get there and Jason isn't there, or everyone is infected, and…and –"

Panic engulfs me.

It swallows me whole, forcing me right into the depths of it. Every what if scenario is worse than the last, until they're all consuming. I fumble right into darkness, until I realize Eric is right against me. He's worked his way close enough to slide an arm over me, and his leg between mine. There is nothing but good intentions on his part; he pulls me into his chest –warm, strong, and covered in a worn t shirt –and his free hand slides into my hair. He grasps a fistful between his fingers, locking around strands of hair as dark as the night, and when I sigh in pure exhaustion, he lets me stay there.

In the darkest place I've ever been, a motel in a weird town, and with a desk clerk who found me suspicious, I sink against the lone person looking out for me. Eric is not bound to me in any way. Our deal is lopsided now; he's saved my life more times than I have his, and there would be nothing wrong with him dropping me off in a town and wishing me all the best. The fear of being left behind, again, is real.

It settles in my chest, uneasy and thick, and I think I'll never fall asleep.

But I do.

Eric lowly informs me this is just for tonight. He mutters a few other things –like how he saw plenty of people break down for lesser reasons in academy, and how some of his fellow officers have thrown up at far less. His words are not meant to be soothing. He's trying to empower me, for a weak partner isn't something he can handle.

I nod against his chest, fully getting it.

He's giving me tonight to mourn the loss of my old life. Perhaps he's already done it, with the first or second or third zombie kill, or maybe it was when Landon was over him, ready to bite. Maybe it was the first hotel, the casino, or Jason's call, putting real distance and space between what we all knew from before.

I take it.

I shut my eyes as his fingers tighten, and every so often, he moves them. They scrape through my hair with a surprising gentleness, but it feels right coming from him. I fall asleep a few minutes later, waking up only when Eric's phone rings, and Jason tells him to hurry and leave as soon as we can.

"Okay, you get the first one, I'll take the second. Shoot whenever you're ready, Carlen."

I chew on my lip, nodding at him as Eric leaves my side, and I watch the zombies meander down the ravaged aisle of an AJ's Fine Grocery. The air is warmer in here, but it smells like death. It smells like decay and despair, like dead flowers and lost dreams, and like zombies have taken it over as an unofficial zombie headquarters. I barely bat at an eye at the one who slinks near me, knocking over the display of jars promising fresh, authentic salsa. He's tall and lean, though it's mostly because his body is rotting off, and he smells like a truck stop bathroom. I hold my breath when he looks at me, then I aim, and shoot without taking a single step.

His head bursts apart like an overripe watermelon. It explodes messily, landing on the few bags still on the shelves, and a can of peas and carrots. Eric's shot comes right after mine, echoing through the store with a loud bang, followed by the sickening sound of zombie juice hitting the floor.

A month ago, I would have thrown up.

To be exact, I had.

I know this because I've been keeping track.

Thirty-seven days ago, my family left me behind to go pick up my dad. I woke up to the undead walking through my own home, through Carole's yard, and through the woods. I met Eric, saved his ass twice, and joined him in what I thought would be a quick trip to a safe zone. In my head, the words safe zone conjured up images of being reunited with my family. I would be upset they'd left me behind, but happy to see them. I imagined Eric and I would part ways as amicable pals; the zombies would have been a weird, but brief kink in my routine, and things would go back to normal quickly.

Oh, how wrong was I.

Thirty days ago, I lie in a bed in the middle of nowhere. A shit hole town named Venture Valley, with a weird desk clerk who thought I was going to trash the place. Exhaustion and optimism had led us there, and we accepted it willingly, because it meant we were that much closer to finding his friend. Eric and I both went to bed with the intentions of sleeping, and then going to this elusive safe zone. With better directions, a strong idea of where to go, and contact –precious human contact with another office who knew what he was doing –things felt good.

Until reality hit.

Until the breakdown that had been threatening couldn't be held off any longer, and I felt like I might splinter apart.

Eric figured it out long before I did. I fell asleep with his hands in my hair, occasionally stroking my temples by pure accident, feeling like I was safe for a few hours. He swore it was fine for that night, and that night only. I fell asleep, knowing deep down, I wouldn't see my family any time soon, nor would this be easy. The outbreak was just beginning, and if I didn't play my cards right, I wouldn't survive.

Which is how I ended up here, in a city nowhere near Texas, having now killed over fifty zombies. I take plenty of pride in the number, for it took me a solid week to prove to Eric I was capable of having a gun on me. Another week for him to really trust me with it, and only one zombie creeping up behind him for him to agree it was a good plan.

The living dead got worse as time went on.

I had high hopes things would slow down the longer this went on. I woke up the morning after falling asleep against Eric to him shoving things in a bag and packing up. Neither of us spoke about what happened the night before; I decided I'd be fine, and Eric allowed me to act like it didn't happen. We left without saying goodbye to Stanford, and our contact with Jason left us both on edge. Our days were spent driving, weaving in and out of sudden traffic, mostly large trucks and a few SUVS, zooming past so fast they nearly ran us off the road.

The farther we drove, the less traffic there was.

Sightings of actual humans became rare. There was the occasional hitchhiker, or someone pulled off to the side, but Eric never stopped. He scowled when Jason called, and he let out a string of swear words at whatever news he got. A minute later, he dully announced Jason had been diverted halfway to the safe zone. There was a mix up in communication, an outbreak near the safe zone, too close for comfort, and Jason was now being sent elsewhere. To the safe zone on the opposite side of the country, with several check in points.

He insisted we could meet up along the way.

He gave Eric a list of options to choose from, and Eric picked the one near Utah. Jason and Karl were going there first, and should the stars align, we'd find them. The maps Eric showed me became a blur, though I did spend a few hours studying them, trying to mentally pinpoint where these still functioning safe zones were.

One is Utah.

One is Oregon.

The other is Florida.

"Did he get close?"

I look up to Eric pulling the bandana down from his face to reveal a smirk. He takes my face in his hands, then rotates my head carefully, left then right. Unsatisfied, he tilts it side to side, and brushes the hair off my neck to examine it.

"Did he bite you?"

"Please," I scoff, knocking his hands away and stomping past him to find some hopefully nonexpired Advil. "He never got close enough to touch me."

"Nice work, Carlen. Who knew you had it in you?" His snort of approval is waved off, and I traipse down the aisle, until I find what I'm looking for. A wall of mostly still good medicine. I take several boxes, tearing them open and pulling out the tiny bottles, and I combine as much as I can. I leave enough behind if anyone else comes through here they'll have some, but I've already learned the hard way that if I didn't take something when I saw it, I might never find it again. "Hey, you want to try a frozen pizza again?"

He snickers at his own hilarity, lazily walking toward me with a melted, warped box. I glare at him, because a week ago, we dared to try a pizza that still seemed frozen. We were both starving, and sick of eating things like chips and crackers, so, we took a risk. Eric heated it up over a camping stove, and an hour later, I was pretty sure I was going to throw up all over the side of the road.

I did.

I swore while Eric stood by, both holding my hair back and keeping one eye out for the undead. He helped me until I was done, gave me some water, and told me next time, we'd stick to the essentials.

I hated it.

I hated the stupid pizza, the stupid feeling of being sick, and Eric being there while I vomited up my guts. I hated the zombies. The way the world was shutting down, and the lack of an end in sight.

The apocalypse went down exactly like Eric, well, Jason, said it would.

There is no power. Running water is iffy. People fled their towns in droves, only to flee back when they realized the open road was no better. We drove past accidents and pile ups, past people being eaten, and past people screaming and throwing stuff at the patrol car. When we did stop, the cities were eerie. The stores have all been looted and ravaged as people panicked, and it was risky to go in them. Finding places to stay went from easy, Eric flashing his badge and being awarded a room, to nearly impossible.

Each motel we pass now, has a sign reading NO VACANCY, OPEN, or HELP. It's a gamble to pick from them, but our best luck was with those saying open. The zombies can't read, at least not yet, and there's usually a motel owner willing to trade something for a night of safety. The first few wanted cash. Eric didn't bother blinking as he handed it to them, even though he couldn't figure out why they wanted it. The last ones wanted food. Medicine. Toilet paper. Water. We made it part of our routine to have these things on hand, since they now spent like currency.

Frozen pizza did not.

"What else do you want?" He calls out from the men's side of the aisle, plucking body wash and hair gel in the same swoop. His hair hasn't fared well during this last month, and I know it's bugging him. He shaved whenever he could, but his hair had grown out of the precision cut, and it left him looking a little bit wild. "Want me to grab you one? You could smell like…swords and glaciers? Or bears and pine trees? Take your pick, partner."

I roll my eyes from a section promising I'd be transported to a faraway land if I took a bath with any of these. The last bath I took was horrific; it was in the shittiest motel so far, one with walls so thin I could hear the people next door either murdering each other, or having the roughest, loudest sex of their lives, and I pleaded with Eric to yell at them at them to shut up. I also made him sit outside the door and talk to me, because even though my bath smelled like roses and poppies, I wasn't sure I had enough mental stamina to make it through it.

Sometimes, I was so homesick I could barely stand it.

Other times, I was furious I'd been left behind, because it was obvious that I'd be a zombie by now.

"I want to smell like none of that. I got my own. Did you get the shampoo?"

Our eyes meet over the shaving cream, and he holds my stare.

One might think sharing a bed, brushing our teeth together, and driving for hours would have stirred up something between us. Eric is hardly unattractive, and I've never considered myself to be hideous. Every so often, I would watch him yank his shirt off by the collar and stare at how impossibly fit he is. He always noticed; he usually smirked or snickered, and occasionally, he stared back, like he was daring me to do more than look at him. His gaze would linger on the undeniably sultry collar of my t-shirt when it slipped off my shoulder, or he'd smile widely when I picked a tank top and pajama shorts.

I slept close to him, careful not to touch him in any way, and usually woke up with his arm over me, and his head bent toward mine.

It was nothing. He was protective, because without me, there was the slightest chance he'd have his neck ripped open by a rogue, fast moving zombie, and there was nothing Eric hated more than zombies.

Well, maybe sharing shampoo. Or talking about his feelings.

"Can we each pick out our own? Last time, you picked the one that smelled like citrus asshole," I pick up a heavy bottle of what was once expensive shampoo, and he dares to look insulted. "And I want real conditioner. My hair is longer than yours and you keep using all the conditioner we have."

"Fine."

He sulks away, clearly attached to whatever gross shampoo he liked, and I hear him yell to meet back up at the front. I grab whatever I can fit in the backpack, knowing there's more room in the car but he'll scowl, and I long for the days of a hot shower and Stanford behind the motel desk. Now, despite the store being looted several times, my choices are decent. I grab a few bottles of detangler, but hesitate over a conditioning hair mask. After deciding fuck it, it's the zombie apocalypse, I take the jar, and I figure I'll tell Eric he can use it, too.

When I've picked out everything I can carry, I take a final lap around the store. I grab a few odds and ends –gum, hair ties, a brush, toothpaste, and some candy bars –then I head to the front. I walk down the baby aisle, oddly still completely stocked and looking like no one has ventured anywhere near it, and I find Eric standing in front of the liquor. This area is mostly empty; all that's left is shitty, cheap wine –according to Eric, and mixers. He grabs a case of something, then gestures for me to follow him.

We leave the store silently, and close together. I've learned a few things about humanity during this dark time, and my biggest lesson so far, is that people are not nice. No one other than Eric, is looking out for me, and no one gives a shit if I'm hungry or thirsty. The apocalypse has brought out the absolute worst in people; they think only of themselves, and never of others.

We've been attacked a few times now, not by zombies, but by rabid men and women lusting after our hard work. Too afraid to go inside themselves, they wait hidden, and emerge to attack when one isn't looking.

Luckily for us, we're armed, and they rarely are.

"Hurry. There's one by the dumpster, but I don't think he's moving." Eric sticks close to me, and his stare is unfriendly. We have the advantage of having a car, but I constantly worry we'll run out of gas. "Okay, you go around first. Make sure it's clear on your side."

"Got it."

A few weeks ago, he promised me he'd do his best to make sure we always had means of transportation. He stole gas wherever he could, storing it in as many containers as he had. Only once did we come close to running out, and he was almost as stressed as I was.

"All clear," I announce, remembering the things he'd taught me.

Look left and right.

Check the backseat.

Keep my stare unapproachable and mean.

Check under the car while walking, looking for shadows or anything out of place. If there was something on the door or windshield, stop walking and draw my weapon.

His tips proved helpful, because more than once, we'd returned to find people circling the car, trying to figure out how to take it. A few begged for rides, but most scattered, afraid of getting shot.

Today, no one is out here. We load up the backseat first, then slide inside at the same time. Eric locks the doors, and I catch someone running at us, probably to demand we turn over whatever food we have. They make it near the car, so close they manage to reach out with one hand and touch the bumper, but they're immediately attacked. They go down with a loud thud, then a crunch as a lone zombie tears into their neck. It's loud and unpleasant, and unfortunately familiar.

Eric drives off before the zombie loses interest in his victim. The action is also familiar, but he no longer reaches for the radio.

It's been silent for weeks, now.

It's comforting in a way, knowing that while people are out there, everyone is in the same boat.

In other ways, it's terrifying.

I scoot closer to Eric, opening up one of the breakfast bars and hoping it's not stale, and rejoicing when it's not. I share it with him, breaking him pieces off while he drives, offering him a larger share. He reluctantly takes it, and we share our water while he passes a sign announcing we're a hundred miles from Utah.

It causes a weird pang in my chest, especially when Eric nudges me with his shoulder, and I scoot all the way over, as close as I can get.

We've driven like this for a week now. It feels safer if we're closer together, especially now.

The sun sets while he drives, weak and orange, and it's like it's given up, just like everyone else.

This time, we find a cabin to stay in.

It's a nice change from the motels we've been finding. This cabin is tall, spanning three or four stories, and sits at the very end of a dead-end street. We made it into Utah before the sky became pitch black, and Eric announced we had to stop, because we weren't anywhere near the check point. Being the only one driving was tiring; he liked it, but I knew by the end of the day, he was done. I didn't argue with his decision, since I knew I couldn't drive as well as him, and I was nearly asleep myself when he turned into what looked like an abandoned neighborhood.

These are clearly vacation homes, or residences for the wealthy. I clutch my bag by a garage door so tall I can't imagine what's parked inside, while Eric fumbles with the front door. It doesn't take him long to get it open, and I wait for him to explain how he picked this one.

"I took a chance. It's the furthest away from the street. There's no sign of activity, and from the looks of it, everyone is gone. Anyone near here isn't coming back, at least not tonight. We'll go inside and barricade the doors. We'll sleep here, and in the morning, we'll find Jason." He stands proudly at his handywork, and then flings the front door open. "If you're nice, I'll look and see if there's a back-up generator. And if I find one, it means a hot shower. And you can wash your clothes."

He sounds proud, like he's offering me the world, and sort of smug.

I know why.

Once we're both clean and warm, there's nothing for us to do but climb in bed and fall asleep.

I dare say Lieutenant Coulter likes that.

"So, did they teach you how to break into houses in the police academy?"

I face Eric, toying with the edge of clean sheets on a large bed. I'd taken my shower first. True to his word, Eric found the backup generator for this cabin; it was small and out of the way, but it didn't take long for the power to come on. While waiting, I rifled through the closets and found clean sheets for the bed, and a heavy blanket. Eric locked the door, top and bottom, shoved a chair beneath the knob, then a heavy entryway table in front of it. He checked the windows, pulling the shades down and drawing curtains, and he even went into the creepy basement.

He emerged triumphant and smug, and he let me know no one was getting in here, living or dead. He also warned me to keep the lights off, just in case someone wandered up this way.

"Aren't you funny? After all this time, you liken me to a common house intruder," Eric retorts, and opens his eyes only to narrow them in my direction. He turns on his side, and I smile sweetly from a mile away.

This is the largest bed we've slept in. Were I not so attached to Eric, I'd relish the space. I feel like I could stretch out horizontally and still not touch him, but yet, he somehow winds up close to me.

"Okay, but did you learn it there? Or is that just one of your many skills?"

"Fine, yes. You have to be able to get into residences and businesses, and we took a quick course on lock picking and the easiest way to enter a building if the need arises. Some are good at it, most are not. Happy?" He stares, the bones in face sharper against someone else's pillow, and I wonder who lives here. I wonder if they stay up at night, whispering questions someone else doesn't want to answer, but eventually does. "How about you? Are you into breaking and entering?"

"I don't…quite know how to answer that," I start to laugh, knowing it's because I'm tired that his words sound funny. "Maybe?"

He raises his eyebrows at me. "Maybe? Wow, who would have thought, Everly Carlen –"

"So, you do know my name. Maybe now you can use it. It's been…over a month," I point out, and I inch my hands closer to him. Despite the freedom to sleep with all the room in the world, I know I'll wind up close to him. Close is safe. Safe is alive. Alive is maybe not finding my family any longer, but surviving this, and not turning into a zombie. "Can I ask you something?"

"No."

"Is Ashley…your girlfriend? Or was she? I saw her picture a month ago," I confess, and murderous is a kind definition of how he looks. His expression changes so fast I have whiplash. "I was looking for the map and accidentally clicked on it."

I wait for him to call me a liar, or at least roll his eyes.

Instead, he takes my fingers in his, and examines them. For every reason in the world, I imagine he's looking to make sure there's no scratches or cuts that could potentially be infected. While we knew the zombie outbreak came from being bitten, there was a chance the infection lived on the surface of something. We've been lucky so far; our only minor illness was a lukewarm case of food poisoning, and some car sickness if we drove without stopping for a few hours, but that didn't mean much now.

He holds my hand up higher, so it catches a sliver of moonlight, and his eyes narrow in displeasure.

"No, she was not. She was…a friend of Rylan's, and he thought we'd hit it off," Eric pauses, and he matches my fingers up to his. The size difference is noticeable, almost as jarring as him holding onto my hand like this. "We did not hit it off. She was clingy and desperate, and she only wanted the bragging rights of dating the police chief's son."

"She's pretty," I offer, relieved on every level. "She has nice hair."

"It's fake," he mutters, distracted and tired. "She'd go and…get it done. Rylan got a fork stuck in it once. He was trying to recreate a scene from a movie, and it got stuck in the…extension and ripped some out. She lost her mind."

"Oh." I swallow down the announcement that I knew about hair extensions. Sophia got them once, after her mom spent months warning her not to. They tangled a few weeks in, until her hair was so knotted and matted, that she had to take them out. "She's –"

"Did you date Landon?" Eric interrupts, and his tone is less curious and more head interrogator of the Lakeview Police department. "You said you knew him."

"I went out with him once," I pause, because his fingers slip between mine, clumsily, like he's never held anyone's hand before. "He talked about his ex the whole time. Then he took me home, dropped me off, and left as soon as I was out of the car. When she dumped him, he then came back and tried to win me over."

"Did it work?" He sounds mildly curious, likes he's forcing himself not to be. "He recognized you. Even as a zombie."

"No, it didn't work. He was older and creepy. I decided I didn't want to be second best to anyone, so I told him off. I got in trouble, since his dad and mine were friends, but it was worth it." I curl my fingers against his, and he waits for me to elaborate.

I don't.

There's nothing else to say about Landon. He's dead, hopefully for good, and there's some closure in knowing I'll never have to see him again.

"Who is Rylan?" I ask, and I find myself moving closer to Eric. I'm tired, and the pillows on this bed are far nicer than anything I've slept on in the past month, and he knows it.

Eric smirks, like he's reliving some inside joke, then shakes his head. "Rylan…I can't really explain who he is. You'll just have to meet him."

"Do you think I will?" My knees hit Eric's legs. "Is he with Jason?"

"I don't know. But I'm sure you'll meet him at some point," Eric answers tiredly, and the exhaustion is inevitable. We'd made good time driving, but the stress had to weigh down on him. "He's…intense. He'll like you, though. He likes everyone."

"Oh," I hate that I sound disappointed, and Eric knows I am. His eyes open, and they land on mine. "I mean, he sounds nice..."

"I didn't mean he'll like you simply because you exist," he doesn't look away, and his fingers tighten. "He's easy to get along with. He genuinely enjoys being friends with people. If he likes you, he'll never leave you alone, or let anything happen to you or your friendship. He's…very odd that way."

"He likes having friends. How is that odd?" I try not to laugh, and he shakes his head, feigning insult. "Is it weird because you don't like friends. Wait, are they really your friends? Do you have friends? Maybe you don't."

"Go to bed, Carlen. It's late," Eric mutters, and he shuts his eyes. The cabin is silent except for the hum of the generator, but it's different than the one in the motels. This one is soothing, low and comforting in the dark.

"Okay. Goodnight, Eric."

"Night."

I expect him to turn onto his back, but he doesn't. He does let go of my hand –the act of physical separation suddenly painful –and he falls asleep a second later. I'm envious of how easy it is for him, but it proves the same for me. I fall asleep not much later, lulled into a dreamless sleep, warm and content.

He's heavy.

In my dreams, Eric is always close by, but just out of sight. A few times, we've walked together. More times than not, he appears as a secondary character, only there to stir things up or occasionally remind me to hurry the fuck up or I'll get bit. It's unfair that even in my dreams, the zombies creep in. They are just as violent and disgusting, impossibly faster and unfortunately smarter. In this one, no matter how many times I blink my eyes, I don't wake up. I get attacked over and over, furious at how my brain thinks I'm weak, and eventually, Eric tries to save me.

In the landscape of my subconscious, he's valiant. Not a white knight coming to save me, but an impatient one, pointing out that I was left behind for a reason. He slips up when he trips over a stray leg, and lands on top of me, pinning me beneath him while the undead writhe and wiggle toward me. His skin is hot. He's heavy, burning as he tries to get up, but he doesn't.

I wake up with a gasp, and to the feeling of being crushed.

In his unconsciousness, Eric is needy.

He is lonely; desperate for companionship but afraid of letting anyone get close. I feel it every time his hand brushes mine, or during his routine inspection to make sure I'm not infected. His fingers trail and linger, his gaze is heavy and possessive, and when he's not awake, he can't hide any of this.

He's thrown one heavy arm over me, pulling me back against his chest. The covers have been yanked up over us, and his legs tangle with mine, seeking out warmth and security. My head is in the middle of his chest, facing away from him, and every time he breathes, I feel it. Slow and deep, temporarily safe, just us.

I close my eyes.

There's nothing really going on between us; it's survival, the need for human touch and simple affection, and very necessary. When we reach the safe zone, he'll be ushered into his place with the other officers. He'll be fawned over –necessary law enforcement in a lawless land –and celebrated. I will be sent with the other survivors, or other unwanted, and I probably won't see him again. Our bond will be broken, just as easily as it was formed.

The idea of this makes my chest hurt, so I simply push myself closer. I give in to the warmth of his skin against my bare shoulders, the feel of his head near mine, and the steady beat of his heart. I pretend we live here, together, and this is our normal routine. We go to bed together, wake up to bright sunshine and chirping birds, and there are no zombies.

I let myself imagine this until I drift back to sleep, and this time, my dreams are much more pleasant.


	6. Viva Las Vegas

Utah is a bust.

We spent a few nights at the cabin enjoying the normalcy that being there brought, but it was impossible to relax completely. Every noise pricked at my skin, and every sound made me jump. I spent most of my time wishing the cabin was truly mine; it held the promise of a normal life, even if I was nervous to open the door to the basement, or the night was so dark I could barely see my own hand. It had Eric, graciously letting me fall asleep on him, and checking whenever one of us heard a strange sound.

We left once Jason called.

It was a dark morning, day three of my head being pressed into Eric's chest and his fingers somewhere on my spine, and the mood fairly gloomy. Eric answered after what seemed like a dozen rings. His voice was heavy with sleep and thick with whatever dream he'd awoken from. The news wasn't good, and I was learning it never would be. It was the same story as before, only worse: Jason was being rerouted, the officers he was with had a possible infection, and one man had been lost. They were being called back to see if they could find him, simply because they wanted the manpower.

Despite Jason's best efforts, the distance between us widened.

We left the cabin knowing we had to keep moving: staying put made us a sitting target.

It was how we wound up here –another grocery story in another state, another day of driving, another risky mission that would allow us to survive. I examine myself in the reflection of a cooler left to rot. The vegetables inside are spoiled and sour, left abandoned because no one wanted to eat their vegetables, not even in the apocalypse. There's a particularly sketchy looking bag of broccoli, perched up on a higher shelf, just above my head.

"Do you think I'm any taller? Taller than when we first me?" I turn my stare upward to look at Eric, and his eyes turn skyward.

"No."

Eric's answer is a snort, hidden beneath dark fabric meant to filter out the smell of the dead. He and I creep along the aisle together, heads down, until he signals for me to run. "You'll never be any taller, ever, but go! Now!"

"Really?" I don't wait for his response. I take off, enjoying the feeling of cold, biting air, on my bare legs. I make it past the row of stinking, rotten meat, spilling onto the floor, and the sight of the brown and rancid juices makes me want to throw up. I hold my breath while I run, because with my luck, I'll barf the second I smell it, and I round the corner with a gasp.

"Shit."

Not one, not two, not even three or four, but five of the undead are gathered around the area I need to go. They lumber aimlessly, dead eyed and grey. They're older. Slower. Juicer. Jason's guide has come in super handy, and when Eric's phone has signal, I read the blog religiously. I've memorized the steps. I practiced stabbing the zombies with Eric, though I was too freaked out to get that close and try. But I have to. We have a finite amount of ammunition, something Eric warns me about every few days, and our main goal is always to find more.

And there is more.

Behind the counter, locked in a glass cabinet, currently guarded by the biters.

Eric and I have a lot of nicknames for them.

At night, when the stars spin round the earth and Eric can't sleep because I've asked him one too many personal questions, he sometimes adds another to our list. It was a secret list, just between us, spoken lowly, as if the world isn't ending and someone might overhear him.

Biters.

Barf Bags.

The Undead.

Gushers.

Zombies.

Zombie Fucks.

Fuckface, spoken lovingly, while Eric did stab one in the head.

Walker Stalkers.

Zbags.

Landon's family.

He loved to say that one, drawled out with a sneer, as though Landon was the sole reason for the zombie apocalypse.

He could have been.

I didn't argue. I just laughed, enjoying the way Eric's lips turned up ever so slightly, and sometimes I swore he secretly liked when he could make me smile.

Other times, I was certain he'd leave me behind, tossing me and the pile of dresses I kept a tight hold on, and waving goodbye and good luck as he drove off.

"Carlen, to your left!"

The hiss of Eric catches me off guard, and it's never good to be off guard. Off guard meant a zombie could get close, and getting close meant a bite. Or a scratch. The slow start of infection, spreading through your bloodstream and taking over until your skin rotted off, and you had the taste for human flesh. Jason had updated his blog a few days ago, announcing he believed the infection to be spread by their saliva. The thought was nauseating, but not out of the question. He also said the older ones would keep going until something pierced their brain; he posted a few pictures of bones with very few pieces of skin still left, and organs decayed and rotting, but still working.

The ones in front of me aren't that bad, and I know if I can get close enough, they'll be easy to take down.

I realize it's now or never, so I take off, joining Eric as he heads straight toward the herd. I eye the oldest, easiest one. When he looks up, and unfortunately, he looks at me, there is no recognition of what I am. There is no human left inside this zombie, only a lust for human flesh, and an agility I wish they didn't possess. He lunges for me, I lunge for him, and the blade of the knife sinks into his soft skull just a little too easily. I gag, Eric snaps that I had better not throw up right this second, and I'm thrown off balance when I try to yank the knife back out.

"I told you. Use your foot. Hold him down, stab again. We went over this already."

Eric is behind me in a flash, his own zombie friend dying and currently on the ground, snarling and gurgling. Eric's hand covers mine as he pulls the knife out, and he keeps it over mine as he pulls my arm back. "Okay, once more. Just to make sure. Remember…what did you name him? Bobby?"

"He was the worst," I gasp, leaning back against Eric as he pulls my arm up higher. He rears back, and this guy doesn't stand a chance. This stab lands right in his temple, and I shudder when my fingers touch the slimy skin. "He wouldn't die."

"The younger ones are more resilient," Eric reminds me, and we both watch as the man falls to the ground. Eric moves away to step on him, carefully, then triumphantly pulls the knife out. "There are two behind you. Better work fast."

"Fuck!" I whirl around, ignoring the dull twinge in my abdomen, and I panic when both are much larger than I expected. I stab the first one, using my foot to kick him back and jerk the knife out, and the second has the advantage of me being busy. He comes from the side, but I'm saved by Eric, who shoots him in the head. "Hey! You said no shooting this time. You said –"

"I know. But it was shoot him or let you get attacked." Eric isn't at all smug sounding, but impatient. "Come on. Grab what you can take, and let's go. We have a few hours before our next stop, and I want to get out of here before the noise attracts more."

"Alright," I agree, but it's reluctant.

Tonight, we are driving out of this small town we've been staying in. It's not an awful place. If it weren't overrun by zombies, I would actually find it charming. It has ornate buildings, large parks, a river cutting alongside the highway, and dozens of once nice stores. The motel we found is abandoned. The owner presumably split once they realized things were going south, and they left behind a safe space if you knew what you were doing.

Which, we did.

Eric grabbed the keys to our room, actual physical keys, then locked the lobby behind him. We took a quick tour of the place, making sure no one was hiding out or lurking in the shadows, and when he was convinced it was empty, we claimed the room closest to the lobby as our own. We went through the office and gift shop second; the office had nothing of use except a heavy pair of scissors, but the gift shop had water. Cheeze Its. Canned soup, crackers, chips, and packages of semi-stale Oreos. Some questionable looking fruit in a basket and several rows of melted ice cream. We replaced things we'd used up –like medicine, Eric grabbed socks, and I took a pair of sunglasses.

Our third step was to scout the property for the main generator. Much like I learned how to stab someone in the head or fight off an assailant larger than myself, I learned more about power and water than I ever wanted. Eric taught me most hotels and motels have a backup generator for emergencies, though we discovered the smaller properties rarely maintained them. This particular one was weak, probably from lack of use; it powered up enough that we could turn the lights on, but the water was lukewarm. The water heaters were temperamental, and so was the softener.

My showers were quick. It was unsettling to feel weird, slippery water coming out of the shower head, but it was quiet and private, and I could wash my hair in peace. Lukewarm was better than freezing, and clean was better than smelling like the undead.

We stayed here for three nights, falling asleep in utter darkness, my legs threaded through Eric's. It was no longer a question of how close could I sleep, it was a matter of safety. If something woke up one of us, the other was getting up, too.

Despite all that, those three nights had been enjoyable.

Soft and quiet, warm when Eric's arm was thrown over me and he mumbled into my hair the demand that I go to sleep, and I felt like I belonged on this wild ride with him. He wasn't like anyone I've known before. Eric isn't sweet or overly kind, especially at night, but it was then when we both were most vulnerable. He could relax, even if just for a few hours.

He did.

He slept like the dead, was hot enough that I barely needed covers, and clearly liked having me close to him. His hands were possessive; they covered mine, pulled me closer, yanked me against him, and insisted I stay near. In his sleep, he was someone else, and that meant for those dark hours, he wasn't on guard.

Sometimes, when he was really tired, he'd mumble my name.

My real name.

Rough and low, like I was right there in his dreams, and I would have committed several crimes to know what he dreamt of.

And commit crimes, I did.

Today, I dump a few guns into my backpack, zipping it up when it's full. My purse is long gone; I left it in a nameless motel, where a zombie burst out of the small room that held the ice maker, and I screamed when it grabbed on to the strap and pulled me back. There was a tug of war, one which I lost, because I'd rather be alive than have my purse, but I mourned it for a few minutes. There wasn't anything in it anyway –maybe some gum, a few loose dollars, and a dozen hair ties, but it felt like my old life was ripped from my hands, all while Eric roared for me to forget it.

Now, I watch as Eric browses the boxes of ammunition with great interest, and he hands me several. "You okay? Are you upset you'll never be any taller? How am I supposed to know? Maybe you'll hit a growth spurt. You still have time."

"I'm fine," I answer, but I'm suddenly not fine, not at all.

It happens out of nowhere. My insides feel like they are twisting, a familiar sensation I loathed, and I'm unexpectedly near tears. I grab a few more guns that I like, not for any reason other than they're black and lethal, and I step around the counter. "I'll be right back. I have to get…something."

"Hey, grab me another toothbrush. I think I left mine behind. Not a pink one, either." Eric yells back distractedly, and I nod. "Maybe get some razors, too."

"Okay," I agree, and my voice sounds funny. "You want toothpaste?"

"Yeah. Get whatever they have."

I head over that way, nearing the bath products cautiously. I miss the days of casual existence, where I didn't have to prepare of the undead lurking in a row of feminine hygiene products, and I wouldn't wince when I picked up the razors Eric wanted. My fingers skim the meager display, and I pick the ones I know he likes. I know a lot of things about Eric now, but at the same time, I still know almost nothing.

I sigh as slip them into a bag, still feeling a fleeting flash of guilt at taking them.

It doesn't last long. I grab a few other things, silently swearing when I grab some extra Tylenol this time.

I must really be cursed, because it's awfully rotten to have cramps while zombies loom nearby, ready to rip my head off.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

Eric's stare is heavy. It lands on me like an anvil, sticking there, despite him driving at ninety miles per hour.

"Carlen, are you –"

"I'm okay," I answer softly, practically collapsing into myself. I'm far from okay. Despite having taken two of the tiny blue Tylenols earlier, my uterus feels like someone is trying to scrape it out with a fork, and all I want to do is lie down. I have no clue where we're going, and despite adventure being out there, I'd like to be at home, curled up in bed, while my mom brought me tea. "I just…I don't feel good. That's it."

"Are you going to throw up?" There is no real panic in his voice, only mild concern that he might need to pull over. "Do you want me to stop and —"

"No!" I sound panicked now, like he might keep asking me until I confessed what was going on. I shove myself closer to the door, praying it doesn't open, and I shut my eyes and shake my head. My arms are wrapped around me, like I can squeeze the cramps away if I try hard enough. "I'm sorry. I'm just…I really…I don't…I'm tired."

I open my eyes when I stop speaking, and the look on his face is funny. There is no way I can tell him what's wrong, and my guess is he's never even heard the word cramps. If he has, he'll equate it to a muscle cramp. I bet he doesn't even get muscle cramps. He's invincible, and Carlen should be, too.

"Okay…. well…" He doesn't know what to do, so he shrugs, looking somewhat insulted. "We're stopping in an hour. You can sleep then."

"Okay," I agree, and I shut my eyes again.

Eric doesn't say anything else.

I don't, either.

I keep my eyes shut for so long, I eventually fall asleep, into a world where I don't have to tell Eric what's going on.

He figures it out when we stop at a gas station straight out of my nightmares.

Beneath a neon sign reading NACHOS, Eric wordlessly hands me a bottle of water, a slightly melty but not totally stale chocolate cupcake, and some more Tylenol. I stare up at him, in a store ravaged by people just like him and me, with bottles of soda and trash everywhere, display cases turned over and an ice machine cracked and shattered, and beneath fluorescent green lights, he shrugs.

It's not tense or tight, merely sympathetic. His fingers touch mine, lingering there as I take the chocolate from him, and on the walk out, he lowly informs me that he once worked a few shifts with a female officer.

He also informs me didn't last long.

He snorts when he says she found him too abrasive and hot headed, and I find myself irrationally jealous of someone else riding along with him.

Finding Jason is like playing a lousy game.

Every time we get close to where he is, something happens. An avalanche of the undead. A windfall of outbreaks, in which those around him become infected and he's forced to leave in the middle of the night. Add in spotty connections –a cell phone barely working and always needing to be charged –and a police radio that now only works every other day, and it seems impossible we'll ever find him. Our last contact with him was the day after fate smiled upon me and blessed me with cramps. Before falling asleep, I spent a miserable hour in the car while Eric chose to listen to the scanner, and our stop was at some crappy motel with one sketchy looking guy behind the desk.

Eric paid him in cookies.

For a minute, I panicked. I thought they were the good ones –the ones not stale, and full of chocolate chips –but they weren't. They were sugar cookies with disgusting frosting, and I knew right then and there, that Eric grabbed them purely to trade. The guy accepted them like he was starving, and we spent one single night in a room that felt like it was bugged. Eric barricaded the door, but it did little to ease my fears. There were weird red lights, things that blinked, and an unsettling feeling when the TV turned itself on. I slept so close to Eric that he must have struggled to breathe, but I was too afraid to be away from him.

I think he was uneasy, too.

We left early in the morning, and I felt mildly better as we sped away.

That was a week ago.

We've been driving ever since, managing to scrape by however we could. The last little town had been decent, but I know Eric is hoping we find his friends, a safe zone, or at least something more permanent.

"Are we close to anywhere?" I glance over at Eric, chewing on some gum like it's wronged him, and his not is curt. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

His answer is tight, so I let him be.

The wild world of Eric has been slowly unraveling before me. There's a natural discipline to him, one that greatly benefited him in his line of work, but out here, it wasn't as helpful. Plans fell apart in seconds. Our food went bad before we could eat it, and what we could find wasn't always what he wanted. In the best of times, we found a few survivors living off the land who would trade or graciously share fresh fruit and vegetables. In the worst of times, we ate whatever we could find. Eric swallowed down cold spaghettios like he'd rather starve, while I ate cold soup. We showered whenever we could, though the motel and hotels were growing sparse, and the people running them were turning sketchier and sketchier.

Those who were alive were slowly realizing they could take advantage of human weakness. I saw it at the last motel, where the guy who bartered for the room looked less interested in the water and breakfast bars and more interested in if he could get me away from Eric. He sized me up, and I got the vibe he figured I'd be an easy target if he could catch me alone. Unfortunately for him, Eric zeroed in on his creeper vibe right away. One quick flash of a gun was all it took to make the guy back down, but I left feeling uneasy. I kept checking to see if he followed us, and my nerves burned with the added fear.

Eric fared well, and probably would fare well on his own.

He enjoyed a variety of things –like silence, quiet time, falling asleep before I could find out why he didn't want to talk to his mom, and wearing dark clothes. He also enjoyed shooting things, he took great satisfaction when he could hit a zombie from far away, and was precise in everything he did. He drove, planned, plotted, and did his best to stay steps ahead of the infection.

But today, being the one in charge has lost its luster.

"Do you want me to pick the next stop?" I reach for his phone, tentative as ever, and he looks over slowly. His cheeks have the hint of a shadow to them, and I know he'd prefer to shave as soon as possible. "You found the last one. I can look for somewhere to stay."

His hesitation is a clench of his jaw. "You want to pick where we stay? Are you sure?"

"Yeah," I unlock his phone easily, having watched him do it a million times. "You've found all the places so far. Let me find one. Nothing can be worse than the last place."

He nods.

It's as sharp as his profile and telling.

"Good luck," he mutters, returning his gaze to the road right as the map appears before me. "It's slim pickings out there. I think we're only going to find worse and worse places."

"Maybe." I quickly locate where we are. The patrol car is a red dot, and it moves along the highway, until the map freezes. I don't tell Eric. It makes him cranky when the last few bits of remaining technology don't work the way he wants, and it'll be better if I don't say anything. I patiently wait until it comes back on, and Eric slows the car down. He points up ahead at a sign up ahead and tells me I have less than a minute to pick.

"Which way, Carlen?"

The map unfreezes at the sound of his voice, and I slide it over to see my options. I debate for a second, closing my eyes and thinking where would be safe, and when my fingers touch the screen, I tell him to go left.

He raises an eyebrow, but he stays silent, though his lips quirk up ever so slightly.

Our stop is productive.

At a rundown, state run truck stop, we take some time to enjoy the warm sun, empty road, and have an impromptu training lesson. After the last few motels, I've learned the real villains won't always be the zombies. There are men and women out there who would be more than happy to take me along with them, for whatever purpose they have.

Eric listed a few while he drove –to use as day labor, to clean, to be used as bait for the zombies, or worse –and it was then that he decided he'd show me how to fight them off. He said it would be helpful, but he failed to mention it would be a rough lesson.

"Get off me."

"No way. Again, Carlen. Not everyone is going to be this nice."

The weight of Eric is heavy but comforting. He pins me down in the field, tall grass tickling my bare legs, and as much as I try, I can't get him to budge. I toy with the idea of kneeing him where I know it'll hurt, but he's too quick.

His hips slam into mine and he smirks at his victory. "You'll have to try harder than that. I said, again."

"You know what? I give up. I'll just…become a zombie." I roll my eyes when he lets up, and he yanks me with him. His smug look falters to annoyance, and I glare at him. "What? You won. You're faster and stronger, and an all-around supreme cop who can fend off whoever attacks, and I can't. Is that what you want to hear?"

"No," he glares even harder, a neat skill considering he looks pretty murderous these days, and shakes his head. "I want you to be able to survive. If someone larger than you –"

"I know, I know. If someone is bigger than me, I'll have to think fast." I crane my head up at him, the warm sun making his hair look lighter, and the shadow on his cheeks appears golden, and I lunge for his throat. I knock him back in the least graceful way possible, my hands fumbling to take control, and my feet hitting his knees.

He hits the dying grass with a thud, and I straddle him before I realize what I'm doing.

"You'll have to try harder than that," I tease, the mocking tone gone when he reaches for my hips, and his expression is priceless.

A little stunned, a little frustrated, and a lot unamused.

"Cute."

He knocks me back, and I don't mean to giggle, but I do. He's petulant that I caught him off guard, and I pay when his nose touches my cheek and moves below my ear.

"They aren't as nice. They won't wait for your witty remarks before they bite," he hisses, and his teeth scrape my skin. I squirm beneath him, and without thinking, my hand reaches for the back of his head.

He rears back the minute my fingers touch his hair.

Lieutenant Coulter is everything a cop should be, including fully resistant to all forms of bribery. His grey eyes flash with awareness, and I smile up at him, enjoying the warm ground, the weight of his body over mine, and the few moments of innocent and not at all innocent attempts to teach me to fight.

If a human did come for me, I'll be prepared.

"Say it. Say I won."

"Never." He lets out a huff of exasperation, and needlessly fixes his hair. I'm still pinned beneath him, and he relishes in it for a single second before his posture changes. "You didn't win. Not even close."

"But it was better, right?" I sit up slightly, wiggling in an attempt to still win. "I could handle someone…my own size."

"Come on. It's getting late. We should get back in the car," he mutters, and it's impossible to miss the flinch in his posture. He helps me up, and his hands stay on mine. "I will admit you were way better this time around."

"Do you train all the new officers?" I brush my dress off once he lets go, still watching him carefully. I've been keeping track of our time together, as well as how many times he's said my real name.

Only a handful.

Each time was purposeful, and all too rare.

"I did not. I stepped in if needed, but I had other priorities. Training people isn't really my thing," Eric answers, and he gestures at the car. "We really should go. I want to try and find somewhere in the next few hours. According to Jason, there's quite a few officers still out there. If we see any, we'll see if they want to join forces."

I dislike this idea.

Out of nowhere, the thought of sharing Eric with anyone, especially people who held the same position as him, is wretched. I tell myself I'm being stupid and juvenile; our survival could hinge on having a group to help us get through this, and the more people on our side, the better.

Still, I like our time together, and I don't want to be pushed aside by someone who shares the same badge as Eric.

"Do you miss it?" I ask, pausing to adjust my dress. Eric has done a number on it. Being knocked to the ground in a mock attack has left it covered in grass and leaves, but we both knew the lesson was one I had to learn. "Do you miss working with your friends?"

Eric walks ahead, pausing to cock his head at me. He looks down from the slight incline where the car is parked, and it's covered in blood. There are scratches and scrapes, the smear of something neither of us want to investigate, and the logo from the Lakeview Police Department, loudly pronouncing they've been serving the community since 1933.

Eric's shoulders rise up, and his grief might as well be my own.

My words harken to a lifetime ago, a time where zombies did not take cities down, where hotels were not run by creeps who took them over, where our time was not spent looking for a place that might never exist.

He nods, oh so slightly, and extends his hand for me to follow.

Las Vegas is nothing like I'm expecting.

To be fair, from what I've seen on TV, it should be full of neon lights, flashing signs, and people. It is full of hotels, the very same ones I had seen in magazines and movies, but it looks like Godzilla has come through on a rampage. Several of the hotels appear to have caught fire at some point. Some are crumbled, revealing exposed brick and metal, or the remainder of the rooms, and the surrounding fountains and pools are full of garbage. Every so often, a zombie stumbles by, looking limp and lifeless. One is still dressed in a touristy Hawaiian print shirt, and he trips over the curb. His whole side sticks to the ground, and I watch in mild horror as he rises, then glances down in disbelief when one of his organs falls out.

Behind him, a large banner reads What Happens in Vegas, Stays in Vegas, and Eric snorts.

"Guess his spleen is staying here."

"Do you think they're in all the hotels?" I glance over, having spent the last hour on my own side of the car. He seemed to want space, and after nearly two months together, I understood. I felt like I could now translate every jaw clench and eye twitch, and it was fine with me.

He'd quickly caught on to my moments of panic, and the sheer desire to never ever stay in another place with a creepy desk clerk again. His patience is admirable, because I am not his ideal zombie fighting partner in any way. No matter how much training I have. I like to think I'm capable of holding my own, but sometimes, doubt creeps in.

"Do you think the whole city is infected?" I ask Eric, even though I know the answer to this. I imagine the hotels crawling with a zombie infection, each wall filled with them, just waiting for us to wander in. "Do you think they're in the hotels?"

"I would say yes to both," he shrugs, blinking when I unroll the patrol car window. I'm met with an interesting smell, and he recoils as though it's horrific.

It's not that awful, but it is full of vague memories that hit me as Eric drives slower, passing a large hotel and casino with a now empty waterfall in the front. I breathe in expired chlorine, exhaust from the large truck driving past us, dust, and dry wind. It's colder than I expect; the breeze scrapes against my bare arms, bringing up the gentle reminder that we've been at this for months.

It's been months since I've seen my family, and months since Landon tried to kill me.

The truck up ahead makes a sharp left. It's a delivery truck, driven by some random person in search of shelter, and I watch as they drive away from the strip of casinos and toward the airport. We haven't seen many cars these past few days, and I found it concerning.

It didn't seem to bother Eric.

"I would guess there are plenty of people hiding out here. Not everyone could flee in time, and some probably stuck around to see if things would calm down. Have you been here before?" Eric's voice is even and far less tense than before. "Jason and Karl talked about coming here. They wanted to go see some show with tigers."

"I haven't," I keep my stare outside as he slows down, taking in all the sights from the safety of the car. "I saw it on tv a few times, but it's different now."

Vegas is unlike anything I've seen before. Most of the hotels are varying shades of white or off white, and each one is themed. The Golden Acorn is nothing compared to these: one boasts the Statue of Liberty and a rollercoaster, one is a circus, one is a pyramid, and dozens are normal hotels with fancy names. All have pools. Rooftop bars. Several have banners for shows that used to go on daily, most have buffets and happy hours. There are restaurants of every type of food imaginable, a large mall, and more fountains than I've ever seen. "I've never really left Haling. I mean…now I have. But I never thought about coming here."

When I look at him, he's watching me. He smiles, not all that happy but like he knew what I was going to say, and I turn back to watching the hotels. My fingers press over the rim of the window and I wish it was like it was before. I imagine all sorts of people wandering around, taking pictures by the Museum of Wax, or walking over the high walkways. Above the streets is a monorail with a few cars stopped in random places on the track, and dozens of signs and advertisements.

To my surprise, Eric turns into the parking lot of one of the more prominent hotels. My assumption was he'd keep going. Our last motel experience left a lot to be desired, and I assumed he'd drive until we found a housing development that he deemed safe enough. Large areas usually aren't safe because of the zombies, but small motels were becoming unsafe, as well. That left abandoned homes as our only option, and those were a risk.

"I need to make a call. You can take your pick of the ones over here. From what I'm seeing, this side is less…destroyed. It's more likely to have human survivors, so you decide who you want to deal with tonight." Eric drives around a bend in the road, and it takes me a second to realize it was once the valet. He parks by the heavy doors to the lobby, and it's surprisingly nice over here. "This one is pretty secluded. Obviously, we'll check for anyone still here, but we might be able to buy a few days before we leave."

"Really?" I watch him press on Jason's name, and he nods. "Okay, I want to stay here. Can we go into the stores? Or walk down the strip?"

"I was planning on it," he answers, then his eyes light up. Jason must pick up the phone, because he grins and informs him that we're in Las Vegas. "We're at Caesar's Palace. Where are you? Are you close by?"

I sit up straighter.

For weeks, I've been reading Jason's blog. I've gotten as far back as a year ago, and the information I've found is pretty interesting. Jason appears to enjoy many things in life, but nothing more than the paranormal. In his earlier posts, I'd occasionally catch a rare glimpse of Eric, looking sullen and not at all thrilled to be along on his adventures. There were a few photos of Jason in his police uniform, and one of him, Eric, and Eric's father. I tried to piece their life together from what I could read, but it was missing a lot. There was another friend, usually making a face in the background, and he had equally as long hair. Sometimes it was in a bun on the top of his head, and sometimes, it was down and wavy, like he was a hair model and not an officer.

He appeared incredibly charming. In some pictures, he stood behind Eric, flipping off the camera or making a face. In another, he sat at Eric's desk, reading a teen magazine and drinking a large milkshake. He was grinning from ear to ear, and I imagine Eric was not pleased when he took the picture.

His friends seem fun.

Much more amusing than Eric, though I will admit I liked his dry sense of humor.

"Okay, so a day away if you drive all night? I told her we'd stay here for a few days, maybe more. We're going to check out one of the hotels now and the stores. I need to grab a few things. Any word from Rylan?" Eric gestures for me to follow him, and I climb out of the car. I take a second to stretch, and it feels undeniably good to stand. "Want to meet us here tomorrow? I'm gonna see if I can find the power and maybe take a hot shower. It'll be nice not to be on the road."

Jason must agree.

They talk for a bit before Eric tells him he'll call in the morning, hangs up, then gestures at the large doors. His mood is greatly improved, and he points inside. "What do you think? Want to check it out? We can go around the front desk and see if there's anyone here. If not, we'll pick a room. Are you armed?"

"I am," I inform him needlessly. We both kept careful track of the weapons and ammunition, and he'd eventually agreed it was safer for us both to have a gun at all times. "After you?"

"Come on, Carlen. Watch out for spleens."

He goes inside first, and I take a single second to check out the area.

For the first time in months, after nights of dark and days of the same heaviness, the air feels alive.

"No."'

"Please."

"Carlen, it's the twenty third floor. If anything happens, and it very well could, you have to get down twenty-three flights of stairs. Hoping no one catches up to you." Eric stands in the middle of the largest hotel room I've ever been in, and he puts his hands on his hips. "There's no way you can risk taking the elevator. You almost died walking up here. Had I not caught you when you fell –"

"It has a really nice view. And I tripped over…my shoelace from the boots you made me wear." I flash him the sweetest smile I can, and I refuse to stay downstairs, in anything less than this over the top, sky high, luxury room with more than one bathroom. "Look, we both know nothing will happen here. What are the chances someone…or something…is going to come inside, walk up all those stairs, and pick this exact room to break into?"

"Very high," Eric barks, and I swear he glares harder when I walk by. "You do realize it'll take forever to get in and out of here. The kitchen is –"

"Please?" I open up the heavy curtains just enough to see outside, and the view is stunning. It spans the whole strip, giving way to the city behind it. "I've never stayed up this high, and you and I both know it's safer than the ground floor."

The room is beautiful. It's in pristine condition, untouched by the zombies or the humans desperate to survive, and clean. Reasonably safe. Twenty-three stories in the air, in a room clearly meant for someone with far more money than they knew what to do with, and only Eric here.

Before coming up here, Eric and I nosed around the lobby for a while. We still hadn't seen another person, and I was optimistically cautious everyone had left. Eric found dozens of sets of keys, an instruction manual on how to put the hotel in emergency mode, and a list of names to call. He led me into a tiny office, one with numerous electrical boxes and dials, and with one pull of an unmarked level, the power flickered back on.

He told me to grab a room key. I closed my eyes, grabbed one, and he grudgingly informed me it was on the top floor.

"I guess. It's still risky if someone comes up here." He's unenthused, though he does wander over to join me at the window. "Are you afraid of heights?"

"No. Are you?" I crane my head up to look at him, his blond hair falling to the side and his eyes on me. His shirt is black, his pants are black, and the only thing light is his eyes. "Look, there's even a balcony. Come on. Just this once. We can go find something to eat, maybe hit the slot machines…win some acorns…"

He rolls his eyes. Eric shakes his head, but it's in defeat.

"Fine. Only because Jason is heading this way, and we've agreed to meet up. And the odds of anyone with a functioning brain coming this way are pretty low."

"Thank you!"

My gasp is lost on him. I would hug him, though physical affection is not his preferred method of anything, and he wanders away before I can. He goes to look at the bathroom, and I return to looking out at the city. It spans for miles past the strip, but I like the hotels best. I read the name of each one, stopping when they get too far to see. My fingers press against the thick glass, and I'm surprised to find it's warm.

I stay there, watching the sun cast a bright glow over everything, until Eric unenthusiastically informs me it's time to walk back down all twenty-three flights of stairs and see if we can find something to eat.

The shops at Cesar's Palace might be my favorite place.

It's hard to tell them apart from the hotel. The shops are just as grand, built with sprawling wings, lots of arches and high ceilings, and everything is marble or cream colored. It's so large it appears endless, and most of the stores are in decent shape. I hesitated only because it looked a little too nice. Nothing is closed, there are no bodies lying around, and there's a suspicious lack of zombie smell.

Eric and I walk through the shops together, his arm bumping mine to remind me to stick close by, and we wander in and out of the stores without a care in the world.

Well, with some care in the world.

In the back of my mind, I stay on high alert for zombies or people hiding out. I don't doubt we'll see one or the other, so I'm not entirely at ease. But it doesn't put a damper on my shopping spree, because for once, it's pure fun.

It also gives me a chance to watch Eric in the wild.

He saunters around each store, looking less than impressed, until he finds a section that suits him. Eric picks up new boots, still black, still heavy, and smirks when I decline to take a pair. He grabs shirts and pants –all dark, but some white undershirts, and a new belt. He declines the shirt I pick out for him, one meant to look like it's been through the zombie apocalypse, and he dryly informs me he can put his own holes in his shirts.

In the largest department store, he takes the escalator steps two at a time, and I hesitate because it shakes. It sways beneath my feet, and I freeze, in the middle of a Nordstrom's, afraid I might just fall to my death.

"Come on," Eric demands, impatient as ever. He glares at me, one arm holding the bags of clothes and the other reaching for me. "It's not going to –"

It creaks.

The metal grate shifts beneath my feet, and were this not the zombie apocalypse, I know someone would close it off and come service it.

"Everly, you have move. Now. Unless you want to die."

When he says my real name, I know he's serious. I listen right as the thing makes an unusual sound. I reach out for Eric's hand, stupidly pausing a few steps away, he takes it in his. His hand is warm, and familiar as he tugs me toward him. I jump the rest of the way, then I whirl around, waiting for the whole escalator to collapse.

Nothing happens.

The thing stays there like a monstrous metal beast, and beside me, Eric snickers.

"Are you done? Or do you want to try and see if you can get it to really break? Because I accidentally hit the stop alarm but the look on your face was priceless."

"Are you serious! You tricked me!" I glare at him, but he doesn't care.

He keeps my hand in his, winding through rows of designer shoes and make up counters, until we reach the section I want.

Then he flops down on a couch and shuts his eyes, leaving me to try on whatever I pick out, while he stands guard by taking a nap.

This time, the water is hot.

I wash my hair with decent hotel shampoo and conditioner, lingering in the shower for no reason other than I can, enjoying the scalding shower and warm lighting. It's a stark change from the flickering lights and lukewarm water, but I'm not planning on it lasting.

Like the other hotels, this was conservation mode.

The main lights in the lobby are not on, nor did Eric want them to be. He informed me we shouldn't draw any attention to ourselves here, especially if there was anyone still on the strip. He wasn't so much worried about the zombies, but that someone who lived nearby might try their hand at seeing what we had, or who was in here. Before we came up here, he locked the lobby doors, warning me if we needed to get out, we were screwed, but we knew it was safer.

My night got better when Eric found a still working freezer full of steaks and chicken in the large industrial kitchen. He cooked them while I sat on the counter beside him, and I helped thaw out a few frozen vegetables. It was a risk to eat them, but an hour later, I was full and content and not throwing up, and Eric looked much happier than he had in days.

Until we walked all the way back up to the room.

It was a long walk. I pretended it was fine, Eric kept grumbling that we should have stayed on the first floor, and we both were sweaty by the time we reached the top floor. He took a shower first, and while I went through the bags to try and find clean clothes, I let myself wonder about his old life.

I wondered about Ashley, about why he was hell bent on ignoring his mother's phone calls, and even his father's. Daniel had called once, while I was getting dressed, and Eric chose not to pick up. It bugged me for a while, until I realized I didn't know enough about Eric's life to demand he talk to them, and figured he knew what he was doing.

I decide he does while I turn the water off with great reluctance. Eric had worked hard to find the hot water heater. He warned me it might not work, and if it didn't, not to blame him.

I wouldn't.

While I didn't love them, I've gotten used to cool showers with the feeling of unfiltered water. I've grown used to showering quickly, not sure if a zombie will come crashing through at any moment, or because Eric is usually waiting. Tonight's shower is a luxury I won't take for granted. Once done, I squeeze the water out of my hair, brush my teeth, and grab the nightgown I chose. I was careful with all my choices, wavering between taking everything I liked, and knowing what was practical.

The dresses were not.

I resisted grabbing any actual pants, but I knew a day would come when I needed them. Eric looked smug when I handed him a few pairs, a few more sweaters, and some long sleeve shirts. My other choices made him look at me in disbelief: a few floofy dresses I never could have afforded before, and several that I took purely because they were beautiful. In my mind, if I was going to be chased by zombies and potentially die, at least I could look nice.

I decide the nightgown was a good choice. It's a little too ruffly to be particularly seductive, the cut is clearly meant for someone in their eighties, and it's pink. It's soft against my skin, a size too big, and longer than I would hope for. But I like it, and when I walk into the bedroom, I think Eric might, too.

His stare goes right to me. He'd been flipping through something on the tv, but now, his attention turns to me. I approach the bed slowly, and I climb in figuring if he wanted me to sleep elsewhere, he'll tell me.

He doesn't.

He stares as I pull the covers up and settle against the mountain of pillows.

"What are you watching?" I look over at him, trying not to smile. He's visibly bothered by…something, but I don't know what. "Eric?"

"The news…" he grits out, answering slowly, like he's not sure he wants to tell me. "There's a channel broadcasting for anyone in public services. Jason told me to look for it if I could find somewhere to watch. It's run by the military."

"Did you find out anything?" I scoot closer to him, until my arm touches his, and he's warm. "Did they say – "

"The infection rate has reached seventy-five percent." Eric pauses to lean back, and the woman on the screen reads off some bleak statistics. "Most of the US population is gone. They've either been infected, killed, or been attacked by people trying to stay alive. There are…three new safe zones, but…"

"But what?" I settle against him, not quite lying on him, but close enough that when I fall asleep, he'll throw his arm over me. "They don't recommend going?"

"They don't know how long they'll remain stable. All six of the previous ones have collapsed so far." His voice is miles away, and it's even farther away when he slides his arm closer, pulling me back against his chest. I've slept like this for weeks now, and it's easier if he gets our positioning out of the way rather than waiting until he's half asleep. "They claim you have a higher chance for survival if you travel with a group. Plan for three months of travel. Or stay home until the military finds you."

"Should we stay here? We could write SOS on the windows. Go shopping every day," I yawn, and I feel him shake his head. "If we can find Jason, we can travel together. Maybe we'll be even safer."

"Maybe." He pulls me closer, then exhales heavily.

"What's wrong? You don't like that idea?" I stare at his hand next to mine, and this time, I examine his fingers. His hand is larger, and rough. "You want to keep going? I know you want to find the safe zone, but it's quiet here. Maybe we could stay for a while. Maybe…"

"You know nothing can happen, right?" Eric asks, and his voice takes on a frustrated tone I haven't heard before. "I know this seems like it's you and me, but…. the odds are against us. I have to look out for our safety. If I get bit, you have to shoot me. And if you get bit…or there's proof of infection…"

He trails off like he's unable to speak, but it's not that. I feel him swallow thickly, and I press my fingers to his.

"You'd have to shoot me. I know. I'm…aware of what can happen." My palm is now flat to his, and in a million years, I never would have guessed this is how things would end up. "What if I promise not to bite you if I become a zombie? Do you still have to shoot then?"

"Funny," he answers dryly, but his head drops. His nose is somewhere near my hair, and he stays still. "I've got your back, and I know you have mine. But if it comes down to it, I can't –"

"I wouldn't expect anything less, Lieutenant Coulter." My answer is quiet, though I agree with him. The odds out here are definitely not in our favor, and if one of us does get bit, the other has a responsibility to make sure to put a stop to it. It's not something I want to think about, but it's unfortunately plausible. "I hope you know that."

"It won't happen. I'll make sure it won't, but promise me you'll stay close by. You won't go wander away on your own, or leave and go downstairs, or try to do something to prove how brave you are," Eric demands, but there's a desperation in his voice I haven't heard before. "I don't care about any of that. I can get us through this. I can keep you safe. Everly…"

I slide my fingers between his.

I'm the one to hold on tightly, but tonight, it's Eric who needs the reassurance. It could be our time in the shops was a brief glimpse back at normalcy, or maybe he's just determined to prove he's a good cop. Either way, he doesn't move, and for a few minutes, there's only the sound of the woman on the tv advising everyone to head north, upwards toward Oregon. She explains that's the largest and most active safe zone, and if civilians can get there, they'll be welcomed with open arms.

Her warning that follows makes my stomach hurt.

She goes on to say the drive is not easy. The roads are overrun with both zombies and those trying to stay alive. She hints it's every family for themselves, first and foremost. Traveling in groups is preferred, but you still need to watch out for your own.

Eric shifts away after she says this, but only to turn off the tv. The room turns dark, and his hands return to mine.

When it's clear he's fine –a little less worried about one of us turning into a flesh-eating monster and a little more relaxed –I feel him fall asleep.

It happens slowly; his head falls forward, his breathing slows, and his grip loosens. I fall asleep right along with him, pushing back into his chest and tightening my grip, and I know in the morning, things will feel absolutely normal.

Mostly.

I walk along the edge of the fountain, one foot in front of the other, while Eric looks on with dismay. He has a pair of sunglasses on that obscure his expression, but I know he's scowling at me. He walks alongside on the sidewalk below, and every so often, he offers up words of encouragement.

"If you fall in there, it's going to smell like death."

I roll my eyes.

Our morning is off to a fantastic start.

I woke up to Eric shoving himself away from me so fast I thought he might be sick. He wasn't. He was just a little too relaxed after last night, and the result was him being wildly annoyed at my existence. He didn't speak for an hour, took the longest shower ever, and when I got in –figuring I'd take advantage of the still hot water, it was ice cold. He perked up once I emerged dressed for the day, and we agreed to eat breakfast and walk around to kill some time.

With Jason's imminent arrival, Eric's mood improved drastically compared to last night. I noticed this as we headed downstairs, through the hallway, and across the lobby. In one of the smaller kitchens, we found frozen bread, boxes of cereal, and fruit someone had hidden in the back of the freezer. It was the best breakfast I've had in months, and an hour later, we walked out onto the strip in search of nothing but some excitement.

For Eric, it was giving me a brief history on everything and anything we passed.

For me, it was walking along all the places I wasn't normally allowed while he warned me not to fall into the water.

This particular hotel has a pond so large it nearly spanned the whole property. There are fountains out front, and I walk along one of them, while Eric watches.

"You know, a normal person would walk on the sidewalk." He calls out, and every so often, he looks up. His head tilts when I stumble, and he snickers. "Nice underwear, Carlen. Did you grab anything not pink?"

"No," I laugh, and I enjoy his salty attitude toward anything that wasn't black, or dark black, or light black. "And Eric! Look somewhere else. Wait, no!"

I shriek when he grabs me. His hands find my waist, and he yanks me down before I can realize what he's doing. He walks us a few steps together, snickering against my cheek, and I swear his lips press there as he tells me my dress is stuck in the back.

"Oh, now you tell me!" I swat him away, but my chest is so tight it might burst. He's still laughing, not scowling, and he looks completely different. "What if –"

I stop dead in my tracks, and my back hits Eric's chest.

The smell hits me first, but the sight before me is enough to make gag.

There are dozens of them here.

Maybe upwards of fifty or so, looking much worse and far more feral than I've seen. These zombies are not the ambling, rotting creatures from before, but something far more inhumane. Several have blood dripping from their mouths. Their eyes are yellow, not opaque, but startling, dripping with hunger. Their fingers are claw like, sharp nails and paper-thin skin, primed to tear into live flesh with a single swipe. They bump into each other, drifting and snarling broken teeth at one another, and the smell of them is overwhelming.

My breakfast threatens to come back up, especially when Eric's fingers tighten on me. They dig into my ribcage, pulling me back against him, and his voice is a deathly low whisper.

"We go back the way we came. Slowly. Don't make any noise."

"What if they see us? Can they see us?" I whisper back, and the sugary moment of him teasing me is gone. I step back with him, keeping my stare on the ones milling around. "What are they doing?"

"They're listening to something," Eric says, and his voice is tight. "I don't know if they can see us, but I know they can hear a little too great. We're going back toward the front and we'll cut through the next hotel. The lobby was open."

I nod.

I chew on my lip hard enough to draw blood, but the sight before us is like nothing I've ever seen. An undulating mass of the undead. They grunt and growl, teeth snapping and snarling, mouths working and moving. I whimper when one looks in our direction, but Eric pulls me into the casino, and he clamps his hand over my mouth.

"You have to be quiet."

He walks us back three more steps, then lets go and takes hold of my hand. He points to the large bar on the other side of the room, and I nod in understanding.

There isn't a lot of time. Some days, we had all the time in the word. Hours spent in a car, minutes scrambling to siphon gas, seconds when Eric looked at me and his lips turned up instead of down.

Right now, we have maybe a minute. Eric and I sprint across the room as quietly as we can. We reach the bar just in time, right as the zombies walk past. Their gazes are skyward, their necks bent at an unnatural angle, like broken dolls. Only a few seem interested in this hotel; one looks around before he takes a step in. He tilts his head around until the bones crack loudly. The noise alerts a few others to come toward him. They stand in a half circle, scanning the room like they can see through the machines and chairs, and I try to slow my breathing down.

It's impossible.

Between Eric and me, we have a dozen bullets. No more, no less.

After a couple of agonizing minutes, one hundred and twenty seconds of pure hell, where my fingers are wound through Eric's so tightly his must be numb, the zombies leave. They join the parade heading down the strip, and we wait, both still holding our breath, until the doors are clear.

Only then do we take off out the back of the casino, cutting through the back lot, darting from casino to casino, until we reach the hotel.

The strip glitters with the promise of hope, but it's dulled by the occasional groan of the zombies.

I can hear it up this high, drifting along with the wind and dust, pressing against me like a scorned boyfriend. I stare down through one of the short glass panes lining this balcony, feeling like I'm teetering between two worlds: one safe, one not.

Somewhere in the hotel room, I can hear Eric moving things around. He slams a drawer shut, then swears loudly, twice. His anger is misplaced; it's not at this room or at me, and it's not even at the undead creatures roving the streets in search of their next meal. I'm not even so sure they eat their victims, so much as they seek to destroy. Maybe they want to tear our flesh off to make up for their own lack of skin and organs, or maybe they're just evil, violent demons, set upon this Earth for no reason at all.

Jason will probably know.

Eric is mad because for once, he does not have the upper hand. Being an officer gives him far more leeway than most; he can do whatever, say whatever, arrest whomever, and his actions are protected by his fellow officers, and most times even, the laws. Out here, it's just us. There is no force behind him other than his will to live, and no team ready to be called in for backup, or strict system of justice to rely on.

He's angry because we could have been in a bad situation, and he knows we are limited in what we can do. I understand his feelings because the frustration is becoming paramount. Each day swayed from feeling good –a warm bed, a warm meal, and a warm shower, to awful –the walking dead, cold stale food, and sleeping in someone else's bed, praying they won't come home.

I stay still when I hear the balcony door slide open, and the footsteps are Eric's. I know the way he walks, heavily and with ultimate authority, but today, there's some defeat in his steps.

"Enjoying the view?"

He stops behind me, and I lean back without thinking. My head hits the middle of his chest, and his arm slides around my waist to pull me back. His actions are dripping with irritation, because he moves me back a step, and points to the crumbling rail and the broken glass a few feet away. It appears someone had a party up here, but the cracks make me nervous.

"What were they?" I stay against him, and my hand moves to his. In a non-zombie world, Eric would have nothing to do with me. I'd be a girl he'd maybe glance at, then continue patrolling. I was no one; a person going nowhere, from a small town in the middle of nowhere. While Lakeview isn't exactly a major city, at least it was bigger than Haling. "Why did they look so much worse?"

"Maybe it's mutating?" Eric guesses, making no move to let go of me. If anything, his arm tightens, and the two of us look out over an apocalyptic Las Vegas. The hotel across the street from us has some lights on, and a few rooms are lit up. The sign blinks off and on, and several windows are shattered. "They seemed much more advanced than the others, but not. I got the feeling they couldn't see very well."

"But they were grosser," I touch his hand, and my fingers press on his wrist. "I think as soon as Jason gets here, we should leave."

"I agree."

He drops his head down so it touches mine, and we stand there in silence.

We stand there until there is a knock on the door, so loud and demanding there's no way it can be from a human.


	7. What Happens in Vegas, Stays in Vegas. Sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major thanks to Erin for editing these chapters! Have a fantastic weekend everyone! Thank you so much to those who have been commenting along this wild ride! :)

"You get it."

"You get it."

Neither Eric nor I move. The banging is loud enough that we can hear it outside, and my heart beats unusually fast. My encounter with these mutant zombies hasn't left me hopeful, and my worst fear is that one has actually made it up here. There is a chance they've followed us, or were smart enough to wait until they thought we weren't paying attention, and my stomach hurts at knowing we're trapped on the twenty third floor.

Eric might have been right.

There could be a stairwell full of the undead, all vying for the first bite.

"It's probably…" Eric starts, but he pauses when the banging grows even louder. There's a small chance, it could be a human, but the way they're pounding on the door sounds like they're in trouble. "Anyone."

"Fine. I'll go. I'll look at see who it is." I move away from Eric, and he looks surprised. Maybe he was enjoying the banter, but whatever the case may be, he clearly wasn't expecting me to go see who's pounding on the door.

"Everly, wait…"

He jogs after me, right on my heels, until I reach the door. I stop a few feet away, unable to move. The banging is so loud, it makes the doorframe shake. The door shifts with each thud, and it seems much flimsier than before.

The panic is white hot.

We've been careful about making sure the door is always locked and barricaded. But now, the brass sliding lock seems inadequate, and I can picture a zombie bursting through the door. I rise on my toes to peer out, and Eric lets out a low warning of wait.

I don't.

I fling the door open, and there he is.

Jason is much taller than he appears in photos, but just as cheerful. His eyes widen, blue and clear, and his posture changes to extreme relief. His hair is long and tangled, pulled back from his face and up on top of his head, and his clothes are wrinkled. He's got a few bags with him, one with the logo from the Lakeview Police Department, and one in a bold, green camo print. He's dressed casually, but judging from the bruises on his face, the streaks of blood, and the wild look in his eyes, it's clear his journey hasn't been easy.

He doesn't seem to care.

Jason launches himself at me, engulfing me in a tight hug before I can utter his name, then trips when he moves to say hello to Eric. He lunges for his friend, and their reunion is surprisingly emotional. Jason holds onto Eric with a death grip, only letting go to grab him by the face, and yell how happy he is to see him alive.

"Really? You thought I'd be dead? Please." Eric scoffs mockingly, then shoves Jason away with a snicker. "You know me better than that."

"Yeah, but Eric! Zombies! Harrison only gave us one day of zombie training! That's it!" Jason answers loudly, and his stare whirls around the hotel room. "Shit, had I known you were staying somewhere this nice, I'd have hurried even more. Please tell me we're staying for a week or something."

"Where is everyone else? You told me you were still a day away!" Eric smiles turns to a scowl, but he's clearly not mad. "I thought we wouldn't see you until tomorrow."

"Yeah, some wild shit happened. I wound up on my own. Daniel went with Camille and we got split up about four hours ago. I think they went east." Jason steps away with a smug grin, and his stare flies right to me. Our eyes meet, he takes a second to stare, then his head tilts. "Hello, Eric's friend. I have to ask, Eric, what's her exact height? I'm sure you took down all her information at some point."

Eric groans. He shakes his head, and his smile turns unamused. "Jason –"

"She's much shorter than I was picturing. Also, her hair is really dark." He pauses, and he smiles widely. "Your name is really Everly? Everly what? Everly Coulter?"

"Carlen."

Eric and I both answer at the same time, though he's sort of roaring it, like he's does when there's a zombie behind me. His eyes widen when Jason steps closer, and Jason dramatically bends down, like I'm far shorter than I actually am.

"You can tell me. Height is not always an advantage in a zombie filled world. Being short might work for you."

I look up at him, and it's hard not to laugh. "It's worked for me so far. And it's really good to see you. I've read your whole blog. I liked all your tips. How did you become such a zombie expert? Who is Harrison? Where is he?"

"Really?" He straightens up, looking impressed. "You honestly liked my tips? Did you find it helpful? I tried to update more frequently but my connection has been garbage. Plus, Daniel had us looking for Rylan, and Rylan disagreed with some of my methods…"

"Where is he?" I decide I really like Jason, even though we've just met. "Was he with you? Eric hasn't told me much about him."

Jason looks at me, and he struggles not to laugh. He glances back at Eric once, and when he's able to, shakes his head.

"Rylan…it's a long story. Let's just say, he's immersed himself deep into pirate culture these days. He's really enjoying the apocalypse, and the freedom it's brought him. He doesn't like being kept in line."

"What?" I blink, and behind him, Eric looks pained. Unsurprised, but pained. "What is pirate culture?"

"It's probably safer if you don't know. I'll explain everything, I promise. But first…" Jason pauses with a grin. "Can I take a shower? I'd like to wash the death off my clothes and my hair."

"Sure. I'll show you where you can stay. Maybe we can stay here for a few days," I suggest, completely going against my earlier statement. We should leave. I know this. I know the longer we remain in one spot, the higher the chance of someone will finding us is, zombie or not. Eric throws me a dark look, but Jason and I ignore him.

There's no way we can anywhere now.

In front of us, his friend looks rough. Disheveled hair, dirty clothes, and ready to fall asleep standing there. There's no time to focus on anything but Jason finally showing up, and the strange, hopeful feeling his arrival brings.

"I'll show where you can put your stuff, Jason." I announce.

Eric follows while I lead Jason to the other bedroom, and cheerfully announce we'll wash his clothes with ours. His protest dies down completely, especially when Jason hands him something, a small package from one of his bags, and Eric smiles.

While Jason showers, Eric and I head down to the laundry to throw the clothes in the wash.

We take the stairwell carefully, making sure no one is in it, and he leads the way. The lobby holds the memory of cigarette smoke. It's burned into the brushed metals and marbled floors, and I swear you can hear the machines coming to life, whirling and blinking, to announce someone has won.

I hesitate in front of one; it's powered off and dark, but Eric catches me by the elbow with his free hand and insists we hurry.

We both carry the bags of dirty clothes, and I thank my lucky stars we've been able to find a way to wash them. Some places were trickier than others; in the motels with minimal running water or no laundry facilities, I washed them in the sink or the bathtub. I scrubbed them with whatever I could find, and Eric was always appreciative. He never once complained, and most of the time, he'd help me.

He liked to smirk when I held up his boxers, and every so often, he'd really smirk when he held up the pink underwear I brought.

Today is no exception. We take Jason's clothes, surprisingly bloody and heavy, and head farther into a darker part of the hotel. There's a large industrial laundry room hidden this way, with a wall of washers and dryers. Eric surveys the room quickly, dumps our clothes in a few of the washers, and I leave his side to look for some laundry detergent.

Luckily for us, there's a ton left behind.

I add it to Jason's clothes first, wishing I had a way to scrub the blood out, then mine and Eric's. I notice he's kept ours together; they're a swirl of black and pink, and he slams the lid with a bang.

"We'll come back in an hour to put them in the dryer. Anything else you want to grab before we go back upstairs?" He raises an eyebrow at me, but I've found something else to keep my attention.

A smaller laundry facility for guests who wanted someone else to do their laundry.

There's a room just off to the side of the washers, and it's full of shelves of clothes. Each shelf is labeled with a guest name and room number, and the visitors must have left before their clothes were delivered to them. I pull out a few shirts and pants, then skirts and shorts. My favorite must be from a husband and wife who wanted to match: there's an exceptionally tacky, brightly printed dress, and an equally hideous, identical shirt. I hold it up for Eric, and the expression on his face is enough to make me start laughing.

If looks could kill, the shirt and dress would officially be dead, more dead even, than the zombies outside.

"If you take that, I'm not taking you with me. It's me or the shirt," Eric threatens, but I shake my head, and there's no way we're leaving Vegas without a souvenir. "Carlen…"

"One second. I just wanted to see what was in here," I ignore him, but I do smile brightly, and he turns on his heel to go check on the machines.

Once he's gone, I grab a laundry bag, and I shove the clothes inside. I take the dress and shirt with me, and we head back into the casino to find the stairwell, where I ignore the heavy stare of Eric, and the looming feeling of dread as our footsteps echo up the stairs.

Jason shows me picture after picture, and each swipe is a little more insight into the world of Eric.

Their life in Lakeview is far more interesting than mine. I'm given a glimpse into a world I never knew existed, one where Eric wasn't always in his uniform and sometimes looked like he was almost smiling, and one where Rylan often had a mischievous smirk on his face. Seeing him in the pictures is cool. He looks nothing like I thought, but somehow more interesting.

Rylan's hair is epic; it's nearly as long as mine, sometimes pulled up in a bun, sometimes braided, sometimes covering his face. The pictures of him in his uniform make me laugh, because it's never buttoned, he sometimes has skate shoes on, and in one, a non-zombie version of Max is in the background, running at Rylan while he balanced on the top of the police car, preparing to back flip off.

The next picture is him midair, and the next is him landing while Max looks furious, despite a crowd of impressed stares.

Jason sits close to me, not as close as Eric who has suddenly decided our knees should touch and his arm should be pressed against mine, and he swipes through dozens more. Jason has a girlfriend, or had a girlfriend, and he laments that he's pretty sure she's a zombie now.

"I left her in Lakeview. Her dad said he was taking her to Florida. She's a really big fan of this cat rescue out there. I said I'd meet her if I could, but her dad's sort of an idiot, so there's a high chance she's turned by now." He shakes his hair, damp and smelling like the hotel shampoo, and he looks a little down. He perks up when he swipes to the next photo, and it's Rylan with an armful of kittens. One is in his hair, clawing its way up to his shoulder. "We rescued these guys right before the outbreak. Some old lady called and said she was being attacked by demons. Turned out, she had stray kittens under her porch. Rylan kept the black one because it was the weirdest. He named it Theo."

"Do you know where he is?" I lean back against Eric, and his fingers touch my forearm. He's warm, dressed in a dark shirt and dark pants, and solid. I scoot back until I'm against his side, and my foot hits leg. "Do you think he's been bit?"

"Nah. Rylan is quick. Way too fast for those fuckers. If anyone is gonna get bit, it would be Karl. Dude's a moron." Jason laughs. "Not really. He's just…. really nice. He's very popular with the old ladies. Sometimes, they'd call just to have him sent over for absolutely nothing. Old Betty used to call and say there was an intruder in her house every other day. She'd ask for Karl, and he'd come back full of cookies and tea, and with lunch for tomorrow."

"You all worked together?" I look up at Eric to find a serious expression crossing his face. "You and Rylan and Karl?"

"Yeah," he nods. "For a few years now. We had a good crew. It's weird not knowing where everyone is." He tenses, and I'd miss it were I not sitting so close. "We stuck together as long as we could, but we started to get called to cover different territories. Not to mention, Rylan never charges his cell phone."

"And Daniel…." I trail off when Jason looks at me, and he looks suddenly nervous. "He's alive?"

Jason looks at Eric.

They appear to communicate telepathically, and it takes Jason a minute to answer.

"As far as I know, he is. He and Rylan were trying to get to Oregon, but Camille wasn't feeling well, and they tried to find a doctor. Then Rylan took it personally when Daniel insisted that he ditch the kitten, Karl got lost, and when he found him, he told us some girl proposed and he accepted. I don't know. I'm really lucky I found you guys. You two have just been…. driving?"

"Yeah, until we can find somewhere safe." Eric answers slowly, like he doesn't really want to tell Jason where we've been. For a minute, I think he might be embarrassed, but when he looks at me, his expression changes. He looks hesitant, like he's realized our alone time is over, and telling Jason about it makes it less private. "We met in Haling Cove. She saved my life, I saved hers, and we split before things got bad. We've managed to find places to stay, but it's getting dangerous out there. And not just the zombies. We started to run into trouble with the motels."

"Yeah, Daniel said they're a gamble now," Jason agrees immediately. "People are crazy. One lady offered to let Rylan stay with her if he'd take care of her farm animals. He thought about it, but she was a little odd. Pretty sure she'd have killed him in his sleep. The last place I stayed was overrun by squirrels."

"We've found people to be pretty questionable. A few motel clerks have wanted weird shit or the rooms were set up in a way that made me think they'd get in if they wanted. I don't know how safe they are anymore." Eric says, and his fingers dig into my skin. "The last one was bad. This place has been fine. But we can't stay here. The city is infected with a different breed of zombies."

"What do you mean?" Jason blinks, tilting his head curiously. "You think it's mutating? Are they faster? Can they climb walls?"

"We didn't stick around to find out. But you'll see. They're less zombie like, more…" Eric pauses, searching for a word. "Aware? They seem like they'd be harder to kill. They have a hive mentality; where one went, the others followed."

I find myself suddenly uncomfortable, and the idea of these zombies downstairs doesn't feel good. Eric and I hadn't killed any of them, or even tried. We'd gone back to the hotel because we knew we were outnumbered. But thinking about them gives me the chills, and Eric must feel the same way.

"Well…. we can stay here if you want some time to rest, but just know…whatever they are, it's not good. I didn't kill any. We didn't get very close, but there's probably fifty of them. Maybe more." Eric shifts, and I know he doesn't want to stay for long. But Jason looks worn out, and probably would like a day to catch up. "Is Florida the best option?"

"I know what you're thinking. It's on the other side of the country. It'll take over a week to drive there, and who knows what we'll encounter." Jason pauses, and he stretches his head from side to side. "But yeah, according to whatever General Daniel talked to, that's where the strongest safe zone is. Or we stay here. I could enjoy a few days in Sin City. Even with the megazombies."

He snickers when he says that last part. Eric shakes his head, but he smiles tightly when Jason cheerfully tells him this is the best day he's had in forever.

It's hard to ignore his pure glee at being somewhere safe, but in the back of my mind, I can't help but think this is a risk, even for just a few days.

We decide it's worth it.

"Thanks for letting me use your toothpaste."

Jason grins, having come by to say goodnight. I look up at him, now dressed in clean pajamas and looking much more relaxed, minus the dark bruises, and it's hard not to like him.

"Of course. It's Eric's favorite kind. He's um…," I trail off, turning around to see if Eric is in here.

He is.

Somewhere.

I thought Eric would be thrilled to see Jason, and he was, but ever since we decided to stay, Eric has been on edge. After discussing how long we'd stay, he turned sulky, hinting he was tired, and should go grab dinner and throw the clothes in the dryer. The two of them disappeared downstairs, both armed and wary of whatever might have followed Jason inside, and his attitude disappeared when they returned. The two of them joked and laughed while we ate –sandwiches, vegetables, chips, and some still frozen ice cream Eric deemed safe to eat –and both were pretty relaxed.

Dinner was quiet. Jason ate like he was starving, and Eric ate like he was furious at his food. They again left to go get the laundry, giving me another few panicky minutes alone, and when they came back, Jason thanked me for doing his wash. He looked a little embarrassed, but I promised him it was no big deal.

We then spent the rest of the evening on the balcony. Eric and Jason caught up further while the sun set, and they each had a few beers. I was surprised Eric found them, but Jason winked and told me he was the one who insisted they stop at the bar. To his delight, it was well stocked, and that meant they could celebrate being reunited with drinks.

I sat by Eric, sipping on a surprisingly not flat soda, basking in the faint warmth from the remaining sunlight.

I listed to Jason talk, though it was mostly police chatter. Officers I didn't know, places I've never been, and arguments and fights and betrayal. Jason did hint that Eric's father was beside himself not knowing where Eric was, but he had faith he'd be just fine.

Eric made a face at that.

He made a worse face when Jason said Camille said to send her regards.

By the time it was dark, and I learned Jason was a single rank below Eric, and he did help train the newer officers, the zombies became more active. From twenty-three stories in the air, we watched them emerge into the darkness, joining the others in an ever growing swarm. They roamed the streets with more awareness than the previous ones; sometimes they broke off into smaller groups, sometimes they stayed together, but they always formed a sea of the dead as they walked, and it would be impossible to get through them.

Every so often, there was a much more human scream mixed in. I chewed on my lip as someone in the hotel across from us blinked their lights off and on, and Eric chose not to investigate, shaking his head and muttering that it wasn't safe for us to go over there. He pointed out they'd clearly seen us, and it was wiser to stay put.

Jason agreed.

He cheerfully told me to trust no one –except for him, of course –and we decided to call it a night.

Now, as the darkness creeps back into the hotel room until it reaches every corner, Jason's exhaustion mirrored ours the first day we stayed here. He sways on his feet, woozily saying goodnight, and Eric yells from the bathroom to make sure the door is locked. He then yells for me to get in bed, thinking Jason has gone.

"He's uh…you guys are close, aren't you? Really close?" Jason's eyes narrow, his curiosity on full display. "Are you sharing the same bed? Is there only one bed? Doesn't this room have multiple beds?"

"It's safer," I answer, somewhat defensively and I cross my arms. "Why would I sleep far away, if someone or something could potentially get in and kill me?"

"Does he let you sleep close to him?" Jason pries, and I suddenly wonder a whole lot about Eric's life before me. "Really close?"

"Um…yes?" I sound unsure of myself, but it's more at why Jason is asking. "Why? Did you sleep by him?"

He bursts out laughing. He laughs so hard he struggles to catch his breath, then shakes his head furiously. "God, no. I just…wanted to know. He didn't even let Ashley into his apartment, so…you know." Jason rubs at his neck, and his face is red. "I didn't think he was seriously attached to you. We talked a few times, and he just mentioned he was with you…but…it's way different than what I thought."

I suddenly wonder what Eric has said about me.

Or about us being together.

"It's not like that. It's for our safety," I tilt my head, and Jason shrugs. He looks like he doesn't believe me, and my protest makes him laugh. "That's it! If a zombie comes in, we'll be safer!"

"Okay, well…goodnight. You two enjoy your…platonic sleeping together, purely so a zombie can't bite you."

He leaves with a wave, stumbling off toward a bedroom I haven't really gone in. I know this hotel room has several rooms; we even have a small kitchen and a large dining area, and it's nice that Jason has his own space. I watch him from the doorway, disappearing into the dimly lit room, and I can't help but wonder if things will be completely different now.

They are.

While I pull the covers up over me, Eric yanks his shirt off by the collar.

His grumpy mood intensifies, swinging back around to make him scowl and snap as he sits down on the bed. I had thought having Jason here would make him happy. The two of them appeared not only be friends, but partners at work. They must have some sort of bond, or at least a friendship from there.

But Eric's mood tells me he's not as happy as one would think. His shoulders rise when he stretches his head left, then right, and he sighs. I stare unabashedly, though it's hardly the first time I've seen him with his shirt off.

He's an impressive sight.

His shoulders are well defined, and so are his arms. He hasn't lost any of the intimidation factor to him, and I dare say he might be more so now. He isn't afraid of much, and other than being irritated by the zombies appearing when neither of us wanted them to, he was thriving in this atmosphere. There are no laws, no rules to follow –other than Jason's guide to surviving the zombie apocalypse, and he's on top. Eric has ammunition, guns, probably a few other weapons I don't know about, some knives, a drivable vehicle, and for now, shelter.

Compared to everyone else out there, he's doing okay.

"Are you alright? Do you want Jason to stay in another room?" I ask when Eric looks at me, and his lips press together.

The hotel is huge, and it wouldn't be farfetched to run downstairs and grab another key. Jason might be insulted; he'd looked exhausted when I said goodnight, but he might want his own space. Maybe it was rude we didn't offer to help him find another room to stay in on his own.

Eric stands and his stare is tight. "It's fine."

"Well, I think it's good that he's here. It's safer this way."

"Jason can stay wherever he wants," Eric answers lowly, and this time, his eyes look dark. "He's…look, he and Rylan can be a lot. You'll see. But I'm not mad. I'm glad he's here and not a zombie."

The king of sharing his feelings glares at me, then climbs into bed with a huff. He throws the covers back, a tad bit dramatic, given I'm only a few feet away, then he looks at me.

Pointedly.

"What?" I toy with the strap of my nightgown, fixing it so it won't slip down. "Are you okay over there? You look mad."

"I'm not," he answers, his voice dripping with the exact same anger he claimed otherwise. "It's just…"

"It's what?"

For a brief second, I remember that really, I'm as much of a stranger to Eric as he is to me. I scoot closer because even knowing this, I trust him. I've spent several nights sleeping so close I can hear his heartbeat, and by now, I know that whatever has him all worked up can be fixed.

"Are you worried about finding Rylan?" I stop when I'm on his side of the bed, and he kicks off the pajama pants he'd thrown on. I haven't seen them before, and something about them bugs me, before it dawns on me why he's so worked up.

Jason is intruding in his territory.

Even though they are friends, for two months, Eric has had my full attention. It's clear he likes it, and perhaps his mom never made him share as a child, because he doesn't seem to like someone else being here, even his friend. We've existed in our own world, and Jason is a stark disruption to that dynamic.

"It's not Rylan," Eric exhales heavily, then reaches over to turn the lamp off. The room is now lit only by the glow from outside; it's weak. Moonlight trickles in the best it can, but the heavy curtains filter most of it. "I'm sure he's fine. He's mostly capable of surviving on his own."

"I think once we do find Rylan, then we should focus on finding the safe zone. I think if we can get there…it'll be okay, right? Maybe they have a cure or something." I lie on my side to face him, and he lies facing me. His eyes lock on mine, dark and grey. "Maybe things will be normal again."

"Maybe."

His answer is low, spoken quietly. Out of nowhere, he reaches over to touch my face, and his fingers trace from my cheek, into my hair.

"What happens then? Do you go back to work?" I scoot closer, and so does he. His jaw moves, the sharp angles softening as he goes to speak, then he stops. "Do you go back to Lakeview?"

"I don't think Lakeview exists anymore. Not the way it was," Eric swallows, and I'm now so close I can feel his chest. This is how I will sleep tonight, and he knows it. It's why his fingers are still in my hair, slipping and tugging on a few pieces. "My assumption is, if we find this safe zone, and we can stay there, they'll restructure from within. They'll help find housing, assign jobs to those who want to help, establish a connection with the rest of the world, and see if the infection went elsewhere. There are lots of steps before things are normal again. It'll be a while. Maybe a year. Maybe more. I don't know how prepared anyone is for such an event."

"I don't want you to go back to Lakeview," I confess, and one of my hands reaches up to touch his collarbone. He tenses at my touch, but he lets me keep going. The thought of Jason tagging along with us fades as I press along the bone carefully, over to his shoulder, where it disappears into muscle. His workout routine is different these days, but not much has changed. "I don't know what I'd do. Maybe work…somewhere."

I try to conjure up something I can do in a post-apocalyptic world. Maybe I can simply tell them I'm an officer, and at least I'll stay somewhere close to Eric.

"I'll make sure you're taken care of," he grits out, and when I look up, his eyes are shut. He keeps them closed, and I trace my fingers down his arm, over the dip of his bicep. "I'll tell them you survived along with me. They won't send you away or make you do anything you don't want to do. If they try…."

"We could go back to the cabin," I suggest. "It was quiet there. It was –"

He opens his eyes, and when they find mine, I know we can't.

But he wants to.

For a second, there is a burning desire to go find the cabin and stay there, if only because we've done it once before. Our memory of staying there is highly appealing: a secluded cabin, some power, hot water, and a bed where I slept against him, letting myself pretend the world wasn't ending.

The unfair reality is we can't go back.

Not to Lakeview.

Not to Haling Cove.

Not even to the last shitty motel, where the man would have taken me the second Eric turned his back.

"We can't. You know that. We can only go forward."

His answer is warm, and I focus on the fact that he said we. I accept this with a slight smile, and then I close my eyes. I let my head fall forward to touch Eric's chest, and I fall asleep with my hand on his arm, making sure there is no distance between us.

In the morning, I hear Jason before I even open my eyes.

He's singing something, off key and terrible, but he sounds happy. There's a lot of crashing, a few _fucks_ shouted, and then him yelling that he's already gone and gotten us breakfast. A moment of silence, then Eric's name, then mine, then a second shout announcing he'll just wait until we wake up but we should really get up in the next five minutes or the food will be cold.

I push my head into Eric's chest, and his own muttered _fuck_ is completely understandable.

"What about this one? Have you ever been engaged Everly? Or…are you married?"

Jason peers at me from across the counter. Behind him, there are several larger counters holding all sorts of sparkling jewelry. Eric peruses one, grumbling that none of us have any real use for jewelry, and while the displays are pretty, Eric isn't wrong.

Even if we took everything in here, there's nothing to do with it. My fingers graze over the slick polished metal, and I stop in front of a larger display, this one full of wedding rings.

Jason begged us to come in here.

The store sits just off the shops, a tiny corner building with two stories. It's abandoned, but someone took great pains to close it up. There was an alarm set –one Jason quickly shut off by ripping the box off the wall –and security cameras still blinking. Jason also turned those off. Eric didn't really care one way or the other. He pointed out that even if they were on, there was little chance they were being watched. It was more likely a battery was still powering them, and by the time anyone did realize we were here, we'd be long gone.

Jason claimed he was looking for something for his girlfriend. He had plans of proposing to her once we reached Florida. When he told us this, over a breakfast of waffles and frozen sausage, Eric and I looked at each other. Eric raised one eyebrow, but a few hours later, we were here.

Walking beneath a huge chandelier, while Eric dryly pointed out the problem with taking anything. A necklace was a great way for a zombie to grab hold of you, and the dangly, oversized earrings were just begging to be ripped out of someone's earlobe. The bracelets were the same; they were noisy, as he purposely clinked them and announced it would be like signaling to the zombies your exact location.

I half listen while he and Jason argue over whether or not Jason's girlfriend would even say yes. I learn her name is Meghan, and she doesn't seem to be Eric's favorite. When I look up from the row of wedding rings, each one bigger and brighter than the last, Eric is right there, pointing to a hideous ring with a giant green stone in the center.

"There. That one. She has green hair. It'll match."

"Is her hair entirely green?" I ask, curious over this mystery girl, and trying to remember if I saw a picture of her. "All of it or just part or –"

"All of it!" Jason announces proudly. He slides over the top of the counter and lands with a thud. "It's probably less green now, but I like it. Green is my favorite color."

"Then maybe you should take that one," I point to it, and Eric smirks. "Or…what does she like? Do you know what size?"

"How about this one?" Eric snickers, and he shoves a large oval shaped diamond at me. Jason tilts his head, and his expression turns panicked. "What? No? Or did you get cold feet?"

"No way, I'm marrying her. I just don't know what size ring she wears." He stares at me, and I can see his mind whirling. "Everly, can you try it on. Maybe that'll help."

"Sure." I slide it on my finger, wondering if Meghan is close to my size. "Here, this one fits pretty good."

"Okay, wait. Try this one."

The next ten minutes are a blur. Jason hands me what seems like every ring in the store. He critiques them as if he's actually paying, while Eric observes silently. He stands there with his eyes on me, and every so often, they move back to the case. He toys with a few darker bands, but eventually turns impatient.

"Jason, the longer we are, the longer we risk becoming zombie food. Pick a ring and let's go."

"Fine," Jason calls out, and he takes six of them. "I like these best. I'll decide at the hotel."

"Wonderful," Eric rolls his eyes, and he glances around. "Are you ready? You want anything else?"

There's still a weirdness to taking things that don't belong to me, but according to Eric, it'll be years before the US is back to doing things like process credit cards or have fancy jewelry stores. I pick up a bracelet, toying with it while Jason exclaims that he might take a few more rings, and Eric waits.

I feel his stare on me, so much that I look up.

"What? Should we go? I've been listening for them. I haven't heard anything."

"Me either. Which is almost worse." Eric walks over to me, and he picks up a ring with a large setting. It's shaped like a flower, one large diamond in the middle, with several stones surrounding it, and he slides it on my finger. He then holds up my hand, shakes his head, and declares it's hideous. "Are we done here?"

"I like it," I laugh at the look on his face, and I slide it off, handing it back to him. "Hey, have you met Meghan? Is she nice?"

"Define nice."

"Eric..." Once again, I struggle not to laugh. Today, he looks like the officer I met months ago. His hair is slicked back completely, his shirt is white, and his pants are black. He's armed; there is a gun on his hip, and another in my bag. His boots are scuffed and worn, and his attitude is very much the impatient air of someone making a routine traffic stop. "Is she –"

"She's annoying," he answers, leaning against the display case. There is no kindness in his words, only pure dislike for this poor girl. "She's…ditzy and uninteresting, and not doing much with her life."

"Is anyone these days?" I push down the wave of insult, because Meghan doesn't sound too different than me. When I met Eric, I wasn't exactly working for NASA. "What do you want her to be doing? Saving the world?"

"I didn't mean it like that," Eric's expression turns unreadable. He knows he's said something I don't like, but he can't figure out how to fix it. "She's just…Meghan. I don't know. She can't hold her liquor, and she spends most of her days texting Jason."

"The horrors," I half joke, and he steps closer. "Imagine someone wanting to talk to you when you aren't together during the day."

Eric's face tightens, and I know I sound bitter.

Because, in this moment, I am.

My family left me behind, the only person who ever took an active interest in me considered me his backup, and I would give my left arm –well, maybe not my entire left arm after seeing Hazel –to have someone like me enough to want to text me. Hell, I'd like anyone to know me well enough to know I can't hold my liquor. Hearing him talk about Meghan like that makes me think this is purely survival and nothing more. It reaffirms my theory that once we do reach safety, things between us will end.

"Look, she's really young," Eric mutters, stepping toward me. He's so close I'm nearly bumping into him, and he takes hold of my hand and slides the ring back on it. "They met because he broke up her house party. I don't hate her, she's just…loud."

"Oh," I answer dumbly, because his fingers are still on mine, and the way he's looking at me hints that he might be okay with me texting him a few times a day. Maybe three, but no more. If he was an officer, and I was somewhere else, and we were possibly more than just apocalypse friends. "Um, well, do you think –"

I don't finish my sentence.

His fingers push the ring around until it's centered, and the second it is, the world explodes.

The zombies show up in droves, snaping jaws and drooling blood as they head right toward the store. They appear to have a plan. One scratches at the windows; others claw at the large panes. Jason is quick; he locks the doors, shoves anything he can find in front of them, and gestures at us to follow him. We disappear into the back of the store, locking the door to the sales floor, and we're left with two options.

Wait it out here and defend ourselves if they find us, or try and find another exit.

We choose the back exit.

We find it easily. There's some quick fumbling, a lot of swearing, and one sliced finger as Jason breaks through the fire exit. Sunlight bursts into view, and I stumble into the back of Eric as my visions adjusts. He catches me by the arm, and the last thing I hear is him yelling at me to run.

Behind me, passels of zombies pour in from around the alleyways, coming right toward us. I run as fast as I can to keep up with Eric and Jason, but they're much faster; both run easily, and they turn several sharp corners, until we wind up at a dead end. There's a dumpster against it, and I can see their plan before either can say it.

"Up there. We can hope the fence." Eric gestures at the dumpster, and he shoves me a step ahead of him. "Go!"

We head straight toward it, and once there, Eric slams the lid shut and hisses for me to follow him. The dumper is large and disgusting, and the smell is almost as overpowering as the zombies. It doesn't appear to bother Jason or Eric. They climb up easily, but I do not. I stumble on the ledge when my shoe slips and the lid rocks under their weight.

"Shit, shit, shit!" My panic comes in waves, until it's so intense I nearly drown beneath it.

The zombies are close now, and a few have figured out I'm trapped. My fingers slip on the greasy lid and I struggle to hold on. When I pull myself up, one grabs hold of my leg, and I kick him as hard as I can, the action sloppy and desperate. It dawns on me just how dangerous they are. The threat of them is real, but the fear fuels me, and my adrenaline kicks in right as Eric roars my name.

I kick the zombie again, this time in the skull, with everything I have. It buys me some time. He stumbles back, and I hoist myself up, onto the lid. I stumble, slipping when the lid is nowhere near as stable as one would think, and I nearly fall to my death. Right as I lose my balance, Eric grabs hold of my arm, yanking me up and shoving me toward the fence. The lid beneath my feet wobbles when I step off, and I force myself not to look back at the noise. My feet slip, and I scrape everything on the climb up –my shin, my knee, and my elbow, but it's a rush when I hover right over the edge, and freedom teeters within my grasp.

The descent is much father down than I had imagined, but it's a rush.

I jump right after Jason, and fate shines down upon us. We land on a pile of discarded mattresses, dirty and disgusting and tossed out some time ago, but at least they won't bite my throat out. Eric lands a second later, knocking me down and to the side, and I gasp when he steadies the both of us.

"Are you okay? Everly…are you…"

"I'm fine!" I blurt out, wincing when he hits my knee with his. He doesn't believe me, but I can't give him a single reason to leave me behind. I can tell he thinks death by zombie would be death without honor, and I need him to know I do, too. "I'm totally fine. It's just a scratch. It's…"

I stand, blood dripping down my leg, until Eric nods. He jumps up when one of the zombies makes a decent attempt at climbing the wall, and it's clear we don't have much time. He demands to know if Jason is okay, but it's silent as we tell him we have to go now. There's a chance one of them will climb onto the dumpster, and go over the wall.

"Jason? Are you…alive?" When I peer in his direction, he's lying there as though he's unable to move, and his groan tells me he's regretting his decision to go pick out an engagement ring.

I wonder if it's an omen.

Either way, Eric and I wait until Jason stands up slowly, and when he does, he utters one very low, very achy _fuck._

The three of us take off running.

We don't stop until we reach Caesar's Palace, and Eric darkly informs us he knew staying here was a bad idea.

As the sun sets, I discover it's Sunday.

This bothers me.

In a world overrun by the dead, where time's only real meaning is to tell us how long we've been driving or what point of the day it is, it shouldn't matter. Our days have no real agenda, and time is a useless concept when your main worry is if you'll be attacked or not.

But learning that the week is coming to a slow, all too dramatic end, catches me off guard.

In my time with Eric, I've never been truly concerned with what particular day it was. I measured how fast things were moving by how well our survival was going; it might have been a coping mechanism, but it was easier to remember things by places and events, more so than by actual days.

Haling Cove was a day, Lakeview was a few hours, the first motel was a night. The casino was a week, of flashing lights and whirling acorns. The cabin was three days. There were weeks squished somewhere in between and after. It was a timeless span of travel, when our nights were nothing more than the count of days until the next stop. Vegas has been two days, going on three, and it seemed like it wouldn't be much more than that.

Despite the horde of the undead, I wish we could stay here. I saw the date on Eric's watch, carefully ticking away and keeping track of time like it still mattered, and I sort of wish I hadn't.

"You're going to fall."

I glance up from the edge of the balcony, where I'm seated atop of a wide ledge. In front of the ledge are panes of plexiglass, presumably to stop people from drunkenly plummeting off the balcony. I'm in no real danger of falling, but Eric's words make me smile.

"I'm being careful. Where's Jason? Are you guys hungry?" I extend my hand out to him so he can help me climb down, but instead, he sits behind me.

Eric is quiet as he reaches forward to pull me back, closer to him, though not that close. He keeps some space between us, until I scoot back the rest of the way.

Then, and only then, does he pull me against his chest.

Our return to the hotel was intense. Eric was not at all happy about the zombies, and Jason was disappointed that we'd had to run before he got a good look at them. He agreed they were faster and more violent; the last ones he saw were like Bob, slow and mindless, posing a minimal threat at best.

These were nothing like that. He and Eric talked while I took a shower to wash off the blood, and the two of them argued quietly. At some point, Jason went to wash up, and Eric took a shower after me, slamming things, and continuing to be pissed off.

I came out here to let my hair air dry. I pulled it up in a loose bun, and sat, staring at the horizon until Eric showed up.

"He said he's very sorry about the zombies. He hopes you aren't mad, and he'd like to talk to you about being quoted on his blog. And he hopes your leg is okay. Oh, and he said we should visit the Luxor if we have time," Eric mutters.

He keeps his arms loose; one slides around my waist, and the other points in the distance, where a large hotel shaped like a pyramid looms in the distance. Its black tiles reflect the setting sun, and for a few blissful minutes, everything is normal. Then, just like before, there is a hiss and snarl from somewhere along the strip, and the rumble and groan of zombies lurching their way past the hotels. My guess is they're scavenged not for food, but for someone to bite.

"He also wanted to tell you he's making tacos," Eric mutters, unimpressed as ever. "Before he went down to the kitchens, I told him to be careful. It won't be long before they figure out that we're in here. I think he's back already."

"It's not his fault the zombies showed up. But I appreciate that. And I'm fine. A little sore, but definitely fine." I swing one foot down, and there's enough space between the ledge and glass that I could probably stand there. I examine my leg, pale and hidden beneath clean pink fabric, and Eric pulls me closer. "Hey, did you know today is Sunday? I saw it on your watch. It doesn't seem right. It feels like everything is off."

"I know what you mean," he answers, and his fingers are antsy. They fidget, tighten, and tense, pulling me back further. "In Lakeview, I worked Thursday through Sunday, so Sunday nights were the end of my week. I knew I had a few days off, and it always felt like the calm before the storm. Now, there's no point in keeping track. It could be December for all it matters."

"It could be. It's getting cooler." I lean against him, and my foot kicks his leg. "Where do you want to go next? Do you have any ideas?"

"Our original plan was Florida. Jason was in a rush, but he suddenly claims he doesn't need to be. Maybe it'll take Meghan longer than planned to get to her cat rescue."

"See, she's interesting. She likes cats." I joke, and Eric's nod is quick. He mumbles something I don't quite catch, but it sounds like he doesn't find cats an appropriate interest. "Maybe she'll tell us how it is there."

"Maybe."

"You don't want to go?" I ask, and I wait patiently for his answer.

He doesn't say anything.

He sits there with me leaning back against him and stares out over the strip. If you ignore the screams of the zombies, perhaps biting at each other out of frustration or maybe just boredom, it's pretty pleasant. Eric is solid behind me, warm and safe, and clearly content. Every so often, he exhales heavily, but for the most part, he's relaxed.

Until Jason yells that dinner is ready, and we need to hurry up. Eric slowly lets me go, untangling himself as though the physical separation is painful, and he'd rather stay here. He catches my stare before we head inside, and he smiles.

It's a rare, real smile.

"You know, I had a plan. When this all started, I had an idea of how it would play out. But now, I don't care where we go, so long as we stay alive."

"Me either." I answer honestly, and I smile back.

The idea of a safe zone, while fine, seems like an impossible dream. All we really can do it try and fight for our survival, no matter what comes our way.

"Good."

We walk inside together, to Jason yelling that the tacos are ready, and he's only burnt half of them. Every so often, Eric's fingers brush against mine, each time longer than the last.

If I had to imagine my life in the wild world of the zombie apocalypse, I would think I'd be un-showered, with dirty hair and dirty clothes, eating forest creatures out of pure desperation. Unarmed, except for a knife or maybe some rocks, and on my own. I once watched a show about surviving in the wilderness, while Forest sat there and loudly critiqued it, and I tried to put myself in those situations.

I don't know how to build a tent or find shelter in the woods. I could probably follow a stream or figure out how to tell which direction I was going, but more than likely, I'd succumb to the elements after a few days.

Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine I'd be sitting on the counter of an eat in kitchen, in a hotel room high above the strip, while Jason talks to his girlfriend, so loudly we can hear every word they're saying from a room away.

So far, I've learned she's somewhere in Georgia, she and her dad found a still functioning CiCi's pizza, and oh my goshhhh doesn't Jason miss eating pizza and breadsticks?

"So, did you date him or what?"

I look up from reading the paper in my hand. I found an advertisement for the shows that used to be here, and these abandoned attractions were wild. Months ago, there were dozens of pop stars performing, all presumably zombies now, and several magic shows. An exhibit about the Titanic, and another featuring wax figures. One that let you ride a rollercoaster through a makeshift New York City, and one that flung you off the top of a hotel tower.

They all held my attention. My fingers are paused over one offering gondola rides on a man-made canal, when Eric speaks. I blink when he steps closer, and his stare is not friendly.

"Who? Landon?" I ask in surprise, and I toss the paper aside. It lands near the sink, where Jason had cheerfully washed the dishes before dramatically announcing he needed to call Meghan or he might die. Over dinner, Eric brought up Landon while explaining how we met. It sparked an interesting discussion that ultimately died when Jason couldn't figure out why Eric disliked him so much more than the other zombies. "No, I told you. I was his second option. His first was someone else. We went out once, and I knew it would never work." I pause, and he steps ever closer. "Did you date her?"

"Who?" He feigns ignorance, and I tilt my head at his change in attitude. An hour ago, he was close to holding my hand. Now, he's acting like I had an entire relationship with Landon and didn't tell him. "Are you asking about Ashley?"

"Yes."

We both stare at each other, a silent standoff as his phone rings. It's as if fate is tempting us, because when he pulls the phone out of his pocket, her name flashes across the screen. It makes me feel better there is no picture for her, but I'm annoyed that she's still thinking of him.

"Are you going to answer it?" I tilt my head up to really look at him; he's still taller, even with me sitting on the counter, and he's so close my head nearly knocks into the cabinet. "She's calling you."

"Sure." He answers me with a knowing smirk, then her with a rather blunt hello. It's barked, and were I the caller, I'd had up. "What the fuck do you want?"

"Eric!"

Hearing her voice is strange. It's not at all what I thought it be, but shrill and grating. His name is a screech of annoyance; Ashley shrieks loudly, and what follows is a long rambling string of profanity, her begging for him to not hang up, then demanding to know his location. I notice she doesn't ask if he's okay, simply who he's with, and why he hasn't responded to any of her numerous texts.

He pays her no attention.

His stare is glued to me, and his lips part when she screams his name, sobbing that she's in Oklahoma with someone named Jeanine and things are bad.

He doesn't appear bothered.

He doesn't even answer her, but he grimaces when she insists that he come and find her.

"She sounds…upset." I reach for Eric without thinking. My brain stops forming any logic in this moment, and my instinct is to slip my arms around his neck and pull him down closer. Maybe it's the tacos, maybe Jason cooked them in alcohol and didn't tell us, but I feel wildly brave.

It pays off.

Eric reaches for me, shoving a few stray pieces of hair off my face and pressing his hands there. I stay perfectly still while he undoes the bun, and my hair spills out, still damp from the shower. "She's always upset. That's nothing new."

"Who's Jeanine?"

"An absolute nightmare," Eric answers, and Ashley can hear him. She swears again, calling him a fucking asshole who never cared about her, and he shrugs when she screams at him to tell her who he's with. "Do you want to hear more?"

"No," I shake my head as his drops down, and it's pretty clear he's about to kiss me. His nose grazes along the side of mine, and before I can suggest he hang up, he does kiss me. I nearly fall off the counter when his lips touch mine without an ounce of hesitation; his kiss is rough and demanding, and my head does hit the cabinet.

Several times.

"Fuck, Eric!"

I shouldn't be surprised at this, because he's been hinting for days that he has no plans on us being apart.

He kisses me viciously, lips and teeth colliding, and his hand grasps the back of my head. He pulls a few sections, eliciting a whimper when he moves to my throat, and I swear the world turns fuzzy when he presses his mouth to my neck. Unlike our zombie counterparts, he doesn't tear my flesh apart. He does sink his teeth in, until I squirm, saying his name loudly. My hands claw at his hair, until something catches my eye.

"Eric! Eric….Eric!"

He pulls away, eyes wild and hands still in my hair, and he looks up with a malicious glare. His lips are wet, his hair is slightly less perfect, and his chest rises and falls just a little faster than before. He scowls darkly, hissing a low what as our moment is broken, and Jason looks horrified that he's interrupted us.

Well, maybe not horrified.

More smug, and just the tiniest bit guilty.

"I am…I'm uh, you know what? I was right and I'm so sorry! I just wanted to tell you Meghan isn't a zombie and uh, she had cheese pizza for dinner. I'd also like to tell you that…you said Everly was…you claimed nothing was going on and you're clearly a liar. Meghan said to tell you hello, by the way."

"Great." Eric grits out, and I pull him back to me.

As invasive as Jason is, I don't want Eric to stop. My fingers dig into his neck, warm and safe, and I chew on my lip. "Hi Jason. We're uh, just… we're gonna go to bed."

"Yeah….yeah…sure you are."

"Goodnight Jason." Eric pointedly announces, and his friend gets the hint. He leaves quickly, mumbling for the second time that he was right, and Eric is a terrible liar. Eric then looks at me, and his eyes are dark. They swim with a million emotions, and all of them are heavy with lust. "We should go to bed, too. We should –"

He doesn't finish his sentence. He kisses me again, like he can't really stop himself and doesn't have any plans to. His hands are everywhere; they grasp fistfuls of hair, touch my face, my back, and pull me closer. He's aggressively charming in how uncontrolled he is; at one point, he does bite my neck, and he pushes me back farther on the counter.

"You should tell me to stop," he grits out, still unbothered, but bordering on losing the last grip on sanity he has. "Everly…"

I pull back when he says my name, because it sounds so different than any of the other times that he's said it before. It sounds like the name of someone he truly likes, far beyond just keeping alive them because it was better than being alone. My hands are still on his face, his hair skin soft and warm, and we lock eyes.

Something passes between us, so intense it's hard to speak.

"I don't want you to stop," I finally manage to answer, and I can't even begin to think about how alive I feel.

My head swims with the high of how good he feels, and every cell in my body begs for me to resume kissing him. After months on the road and days of making sure the other stayed alive, a little fun is much needed. I grow lightheaded when he presses his lips to mine once more –warmer and softer than I would have guessed –and he nods.

"Not here."

I smile against his mouth, happy and dizzy, and fully ready to continue right where we left off.


	8. The House Always Wins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the most eventful and traumatizing week of my life, I am so happy it's the weekend and time to update!
> 
> Just a head's up: the following chapter lives up to the M rating. I don't think it's over the top or extremely graphic, but I want to make sure no one is caught off guard. 
> 
> One of the reviews brought up an interesting question, and I want to get everyone's thoughts on it: In this story, will Harrison be revealed as Everly's father? Honestly, I can write either way. Him being her father is revealed in the other stories, but it doesn't have to be revealed in this one. Let me know which way you're leaning. 
> 
> That being said, thank you oh so much to Erin for editing!
> 
> Thanks so much for reading and reviewing!

"What the actual fuck are you doing? You bastard!"

I find it impossible not to laugh.

Ashley's voice is so loud, I bet every still-living cat in Las Vegas can hear her. She screams a string of profanities at Eric, though most of it is incomprehensible. When Eric presses his lips to my cheek, quickly, before he slides his nose beneath my ear, she calls him every name in the book, almost like she's here, watching him.

"You dick! Jason swore you were different!"

He snorts against my neck, and his hands move to my waist. "Guess I forgot to hang up."

"You did that on purpose," I laugh, and decide Ashley has listened long enough. I reach over to pick up the phone, right beside me where he'd tossed it, once things went a little further than planned, and she demands to know my name.

She's awfully bossy considering she's thousands of miles away.

"Should I tell her?" My voice sounds different suddenly, even to me. There's a wan appreciation for what Eric is doing, which is pulling me off the counter and sliding me toward him, and a hint of lust when his fingers find the exposed skin on my back. "Does she know what you're doing?"

"Probably."

His answer is uninterested. He toys with the straps on the dress, twisting and moving to untie it, when Ashley screams at me to tell her my name. She begins hyperventilating when Eric laughs, snickering at her outrage.

"Eric…" I start to say something, but his hands move lower. He undoes one of the straps –previously neatly tied in a bow –and it's obvious he's in no mood to stop. I smile when he presses his hand flat over my shoulder blade, and my finger hovers over the end button. "We should –"

"I said, who the fuck are you with? Who is she?"

"My name is Everly. It's so nice to meet you."

I smile as I answer her with as much kindness as I can, and she self-destructs into a rant about what a terrible person he is not to come get her. I hang up when she starts insulting me, and my timing is perfect.

Eric pulls away from my neck with an unhurried smirk, and in the distance, from the other bedroom, Jason loudly announces he likes me much better than Ashley, and for Eric not to ever forget that.

"Now you should tell me to stop."

I open my eyes to a blur of blond hair, bent down toward my collarbone. Eric's teeth dig into my skin, but without the intent to kill. His mouth trails down lower, to the juncture of my neck and shoulder, and he pauses only when I reach for the collar of his shirt.

"Everly…that's not…" He stops before he can say it's a bad idea, because in the apocalypse, there are no bad ideas. Every idea is a good idea, especially when you're trying to survive.

Rob a bank. Steal a car. Stay in the largest suite a hotel in Vegas has to offer. Eat ice cream for dinner, because it's still frozen, somehow not expired, and the best thing you've had to eat in days. Take the clothes, because yours are dirty, rumpled from days in the car or coated in a fine layer of zombie dust. Take the guns, too, because at some point, someone will try to kill you –and they'll probably be human. If you're lucky. If you're not lucky, they'll be a flesh-eating zombie, coming for you when you least expect it. So, take the gun, the knife, and maybe some scissors. Take whatever you need, including this moment.

Which currently consists of me taking Eric's shirt off. I think it's a good idea. Maybe the best one I've had since leaving home.

"It's not what? Aren't you hot?" I blink when he pulls away, but it's merely to give me the space to take his shirt off. I help him pull it over his head, and it's gone. Tossed aside onto the floor, where millions have gone to bed after celebrating their new fortunes. "I thought you said you were warm."

"Compared to you, yes."

He reaches for the still done up strap of my dress, and his eyes are dark. I let him toy with it, busying my own hands by touching his hair. He doesn't stop me this time; in fact, he leans into my fingers. He tilts his head when my hands still, and his hair is surprisingly soft.

It should be.

He's been using the fancy conditioner.

"You're always cold."

I smile, and he returns to kissing me. His lips touch mine softly, then not softly at all. His kiss is controlled but sloppy, and I know he's impatient.

He's a lot of things. In the world of before, he's the one who's cold. He's impatient and authoritative, demanding vigilance to stay alive, and a refusal to let anyone have the upper hand. I can read each grimace when he doesn't like our stop, and each shrug when his phone rings. I know he's spoken to his father a few times –each call tenser than the last, and sometimes I have the vaguest inkling that he calls him once I've fallen asleep. He keeps his life a secret, except when I ask one more question than he's willing to answer, but he still does.

In the world of before, I was the warmer one. I'd tell him anything, and I had. I fed him my brothers and sister's names, told him how my dad taught me to bake, and confessed how boring my life was before he showed up.

In this world, he's still my opposite. His skin has stayed tan, his hair has stayed nearly perfect, even when he's the one slicking it back or trying to trim it, and his bravery never wavers.

He must be rubbing off on me, because I touch his hand with my own, pressing his fingers into the fabric until he gets the hint. He slides the strap to the side, his eyes following the exposed skin inch by inch, and I decide, fuck it.

We could die tomorrow.

We could die tonight.

I might die if Eric really does stop, having decided this isn't smart.

"Well, you wouldn't let me put the extra blanket on the bed. You said there were enough blankets," I remind him, trailing my fingers across his collarbone. I press my palms flat against his chest, and he his hands grasp me by the waist to pull my closer. His stare fixes right on me, and his smirk is quick.

"No way, Carlen. It's bad enough you take up half the bed –"

I kiss him before he can finish his sentence. I press my lips to his, still soft and still warm, and his hand move to the top of my dress. He fumbles with the fabric, and a minute later, his hands move to grasp the hem. He pulls it up to my waist, then breaks away to pull it over my head.

"Um, I have to tell you, I don't have anything. I'm not…I should have grabbed something from the store." I blurt out, burning under his stare. His lips have parted and were I not nervous previously about where this is going, I am now. "I'm not on –"

"I can take care of you." He cuts me off, and I'm pushed back onto the bed. My head hits the oversized pillow, and he's over me before I can blink. When I look up, he smiles lazily, and I get the chance to really look at him. There's a barely visible scar above his eyebrow, like at some point he was either in a bar fight maybe, or went through a rebellious stage and pierced his eyebrow. His cheeks are sharp, his jaw is warm beneath my fingers, but my perusal ends there. Eric reaches for the button on his pants, and his eyes are wild. "I wouldn't normally approve of this. I don't usually fuck my partners."

"Oh," I answer without thinking, but I'm impressed he thought of me that way. I assumed he'd considered me some random girl tagging along with him, or just someone he let stay to keep him entertained. "Um, well…I don't work with you. I'm not your partner. Not officially."

Eric pauses. His fingers still on the zipper of his pants, and his eyes roam over me. Over the exposed skin, the pink underwear, and the bent angle of my legs, closing near around him.

Then he smiles, smugly, and shakes his head.

"No, you aren't."

"This was a good idea."

I mumble the words against Eric's neck, slick and sweaty and salty, while his fingers dig into my hip. His answer is a grunt of approval, low in his throat, while his free hand grasps the back of my head. He has a fistful of my hair between his fingers, and he holds me upright. I'm pretty delirious; I hover somewhere between a consciousness of what we are doing, and the faint, dreamlike reminder of how we got here.

It happened once both of us could decide it should.

One minute he was over me, shoving his pants down and kicking them away, and the next thing I knew, my underwear was off. I dimly remember telling him not to lose them because they were my favorite pair, and him snorting with amusement. I remember him snickering as he pulled his own underwear off, and I was in for a world of surprise to find him already hard.

In my limited world of experience, I'd never once seen anyone with an erection, or with a metal piercing slid through what I would imagine was sensitive skin. He smirked even wider when my head tilted, and I sat up and demanded he explain how and why and who. Once Eric answered my questions –it was done in tattoo shop by a professional piercer, it was a dare from Rylan that no one thought he'd go through with, and the guy's name really and truly was Bob –I reached out and touched him.

I wanted to take my time and touch every inch of him, but the minute my hand touched his erection, his eyes closed. It only took a few seconds for me to figure out what he liked, and by the fifth stroke, he was hissing my name and pushing me into the pillows.

Were this not the zombie apocalypse, I might have second guessed myself. I might have suggested we wait, until we were sure we'd both live, or we knew each other better. But was there any knowing him better? He'd held my hair while I threw up after eating rotten pizza, and he'd given me chocolate and Tylenol when I couldn't tell him I had cramps. I know he doesn't get along with his father, I know how he sleeps –needy and clingy, and so unlike his waking persona – and I know he's only afraid of dying by zombie because he deems it an unfair death.

Cowardly.

Pointless.

Certainly not honorable.

I decided all of this was enough.

I held on tightly when his mouth found my neck again, the same spot he seemed hell bent on marking, and his fingers moved down my side. They skimmed over my hips, pressing and grazing where they pleased, until his fingers were between my legs, and I was whimpering his name. In a moment of pure ecstasy, where I debated between shoving his fingers harder so I could get off, I realized his hips were moving against mine. I could feel his erection pressing against my leg, dripping and impatient, and there was no turning back.

Especially not after I came.

He was clearly skilled at what he was doing; his fingers rubbed just a little harder, stroking in circles until my vision went blurry, and he was pulling me on top of him. I hovered there, the head of his cock poised to enter me, when he kissed me. It was forceful, powerful and intoxicating, then he pulled me down, until he was buried deep inside.

My inexperience left me floundering. The feeling of him inside me was overwhelming, but in the best way possible. It only took me a few thrusts to figure out what he liked, and a few more before my own eyes closed.

Eric was rougher than I was prepared for, but I understood why. He impatiently dug his fingers into my hip bones, growled his approval at how good it felt, and in a rare moment of vulnerability, let his eyes close.

Now, I keep mine open, watching his face tense as his thighs tighten, and I like the sight of him like this. His head tilts back, exposing his throat to the faintest hint of scratches from my nails, and his entire body slams against mine. One of my hands is on his chest, the ring he slid on my finger still there, and the other is behind his neck.

His lips are parted, every so often grunting my name, or swearing. His eyes are dark when I can see them, hazy with lust and affection, and a hint of possessiveness. He presses his fingerprints into my skin, first my hips, then my side, then my face, never fully satisfied.

After months of running, I understand.

This feels good. Safe but electrifying, satisfying, but also not. I want him to keep going. I want him to consume me whole, because it feels good, he feels good, and his arms are tightening around me. His skin is slick and hot, and every few minutes, he touches me somewhere else. It's not adolescent fumbling, but skilled, appreciative touching. His hands are everywhere they can find, and yet it's not enough.

I whimper when he squeezes my ass, pulling me closer and closer.

"Everly…" He drawls my name out, sounding slightly drunk. He opens his eyes to find mine, and his smile is sated. "So pretty."

His confession, and his fingers returning between my legs, are enough for me. I come again, this time feeling like every nerve is on fire, and he follows a minute later. Eric's hands tighten in a way that should leave a mark, and he thrusts his hips sloppily. He loses the controlled pattern from earlier, and the feeling is indescribable.

On the third or fourth thrust, I feel him come, and he hisses my name with all the approval in the world.

I say his, too.

_Eric_ , a little softer, gasped drowsily when I realize he's lying on his back now, and I'm against his chest. He doesn't pull away past reaching up to brush the hair off my face, and he asks if I'm okay.

I answer quietly, sated and lusty and all too ready to do it again, that I'm fine.

Just fine.

A little tired, a little exposed feeling, given my naked body and legs tangled against his, but absolutely fine.

I fall asleep a minute later, when his fingers touch my cheek, and he contentedly says my name, clear and even.

My real name.

In the earliest part of the morning, I wake up to Eric's head against mine.

I don't blink away the sleep because I'm warm and unwilling to move. I scoot closer, listening to the faintest sound of sirens in the distance, and I wait for them to get louder. My brain sleepily points out this is impossible: we've seen few officers, and it's assumed most have been turned into zombies after attending to a call. Anyone in a police car has probably stolen it, or worse, is an actual officer, on their way to try and stop something bad from happening.

Too bad that's impossible.

I don't dwell on it for more than a few seconds. I fall back asleep once Eric mumbles my name, and it sounds like a threat.

His arm tightens on me, keeping me against his chest, right where he wants me.

In the later part of the morning, I awake to the sound of Jason gleefully yelling he's made breakfast burritos. He yells for us to hurry up, because they'll be cold if we don't get up, then he also yells he'd come in there, but he's sure we're busy and oh, his phone is ringing so he'll be back.

He wasn't wrong with his assumptions.

Sometime very early this morning, I climbed on top of Eric and kissed his cheek. It wasn't at all innocent on my part. He immediately pushed himself back inside me, and everything grew fuzzy and warm, until it became too much. I gasped his name over and over, while the sun began to rise.

I had assumed things would be awkward in the morning. I'd never slept with anyone before, and I wasn't sure how Eric would feel. It was unlikely he'd tell me, but to my surprise, he woke up a second after I did, pressed his fingers over the mark on my neck, and let them stay there. He stayed there until his phone rang, and he lowly informed someone that yes, he was still in Vegas, and yes, he was fine.

Now, we sit at the table together, slowly eating the breakfast burritos Jason has made.

It's a nice gesture on his part. He looks well rested, and unfortunately chipper. He eyes us both intently, his stare feels presumptuous and knowing, and I try to keep my attention on the plate in front of me. The room is quiet, at least until Jason can't stand it any longer, and he clears his throat.

"So, did you both…sleep…well?" He none to subtly looks at Eric, then me, then back at Eric, and his smile is quick. "Or was it hard?"

"Was what hard?" I ask, taking a bite of the burrito. Next to me, Eric glowers at his friend, and he drinks a long sip of coffee instead of answering.

"You tell me," Jason's stare flicks to Eric, heavy with accusation. "You both look tired. This isn't hard to figure out."

"Jason, shut the hell up." Eric barks, and he looks both murderous and mildly amused. "We went to bed. End of story."

"Oh, I bet you went to bed," Jason retorts, and I watch the two of them glare at each other. "I bet you went to bed so hard. Actually, wait. I bet it was literally hard."

I choke on the bite I'm chewing when he winks and waves his burrito at us. I cough a few times, trying not to die, and Eric hits my back. I mutter than I'm fine, then reach for my water. "Are you serious?"

"Sorry, Everly. I didn't mean to make you cough so hard," Jason snickers, clearly unable to help himself.

"Jason, stop saying the word hard!" Eric demands, and I burst out laughing.

Unfortunately, I laugh while drinking my water, and it goes into my lungs. It becomes obvious I'm not going to survive this breakfast, no matter how hard I try. I contemplate telling Jason this, but the thought makes me laugh even harder, and I know I probably look insane.

"Everly, are you alright?" Eric demands, and across from us, Jason is busy laughing. He holds up his phone and snaps a picture of Eric's angry face, then tells Eric to make an angrier face.

"Jason, what the hell are you doing with that?"

"I'm sending it to Rylan. Motivation to keep him going. He told me he misses seeing your face." Jason waves him off, unafraid of Eric's pissed off glare. He types a slew of text beneath the picture, then sends it off with a grin. "Besides, back to you two. What's the plan for today? More jewelry shopping?"

"Fuck no." Eric swears, and he stands up and throws his napkin down. "We need –"

The knock on the door interrupts him. We all turn to look at it, and Jason freezes with his own breakfast burrito halfway to his mouth. The knock is not frantic or panicky, but normal.

Like someone is casually dropping by to see what we're doing.

"Jason, did you lock the lobby doors?" Eric asks, and he steps away from the table slowly. I cough one more time, earning a murderous look from both of them, but I can't help it. "Jason?"

"Um…I swear I did. You said the ones in front and the security door in the back. I only went to the kitchen. I never left the hotel!"

My blood turns to ice when someone knocks again, and this time, Eric is the first one to the door. He peers out the peephole carefully, and Jason stands up. He looks at me, then at Eric, then forlornly at his burrito.

"I didn't even get to finish it."

"Jason, shut up." Eric hisses, and I wait for him to open the door.

He doesn't.

He turns to look at us, and when his stare locks on mine, he has a funny look on his face.

It's one I haven't seen before and one that makes him look like an entirely different person.

Panic.

"Okay, so we head out down the other set of stairs. Cut across the lobby. We head around to the cars, get inside, and we're free."

Jason speaks quickly, packing his things with impressive speed. He loads his bag up with his clothes, unplugs his phone, yanks the charger from the wall, then gestures at me to take the instant coffee. I reluctantly pick it up, and once I do, he shoos me to go tell Eric he's ready. His posture drops slightly, and when his shoulders dip, I know he blames himself.

"Everly, I'm really sorry. I didn't think anyone saw me come in here. I know this place was pretty safe. I was hoping we'd stay for a few days." His disappointment is all over his face. "I heard there's a wax museum."

"It's okay. It was bound to happen sooner or later. I don't think it's your fault," I shrug, but inside, I'm so nervous I might throw up.

Twenty minutes ago, Eric had backed away from the door. He held up one finger for us to be quiet, and once he retreated back far enough, he lowly informed us there were people in the hallway. His assumption was they were the ones in the hotel from last night, and they'd come looking for us, and met a different fate. A few looked like they'd been attacked; he said that some of the wounds looked fresh, but his view was limited.

What he didn't say –that they were on their way to becoming infected –wasn't all that farfetched.

His new theory made me stare at him in pure horror: as freshly attacked pre-zombies, they were still cognitive enough to remember why they were in this hotel and what they wanted. They had little to live for; we all knew once you'd been bitten, it was only a matter of time before the infection hit your bloodstream.

Eric went on to say most looked normal. Like maybe they weren't infected, and were simply looking for help. All I could think of is how screwed we would be if they got in here. We had some meager medical supplies, but not many. Eric and I often replenished whatever we had, but there certainly was no zombie medicine in there.

But that didn't matter.

I was learning people were desperate these days, and my life, and Eric's and Jason's, might be worth an extra bottle of mild painkillers or the weapons we had.

Eric warned us they knew we were in here, and while they'd retreated once no one answered the door, we couldn't stay. If they did get in, we'd be armed, but they wouldn't be the last.

He's right.

Every step I take sounds heavy, and the blood is pumping fast through my veins. I head into the room to find Eric waiting for me, having packed the things we'd brought inside. His lips are pressed together, and as he hands me my bag, his eyes are dark. Not like last night. Not dark like when he groaned my name, but dark like he knows the next few hours will be unpleasant.

"Well?" He looks at me without blinking, and his voice is sharp. "Is he okay?"

"He's really sorry."

"It's not his fault. Sooner or later, someone would realize we were here." Eric looks at me, and my dreams of a repeat of last night are dashed. "If we can get downstairs unharmed, we'll be fine. Our chances are better if we stay away from the main part of the hotel."

"What if they're waiting for us?" I tilt my head up, and suddenly, Vegas takes a dark turn. "What if they're in the stairwell?"

"If they're in the stairwell, we shoot on sight. We know at least one has an open wound, and we can't risk anything. If they come near you and you have a clean shot, don't hesitate. We don't want to waste our ammunition, but if it comes down to it, you shoot." His words are even but detached, like he's talking to someone else.

This is what our roadside training really should have been on.

A zombie is one thing, but a live person with a weapon and a will to live, is something else.

"Okay, got it. Should we go now?"

I swallow down the urge to lose it. My sanity wavers between knowing we are temporarily safe, but only until they come back, and knowing we could be killed. Neither option is great. We don't have enough food in here for more than today, and they know we have to leave at some point. Even if only one of them remains, they'll be waiting for us.

For whatever reason.

"Yeah. I put everything back in your bag. Did you have anything else?"

Our fingers touch when I don't let go of the bag, and I shake my head. The look on Eric's face is impressive; I imagine it's what he looks like when he briefs his officers, or perhaps before he plans a takedown in whatever situation he's been sent to deal with. I don't imagine it ever involved zombies or a group of survivors with the potential to kill.

"We'll be fine. We'll be in the car in less than thirty minutes, and once we're there, we'll…. find somewhere else to stay. We'll be okay. This won't be the last time we encounter this situation."

Eric pulls his hand back to grab his own bag, and a second later, he hands me the heavy gun from a few days ago, and makes me promise to stick close by. He looks down at me once, grey eyes heavy with grief, and I have the horrible feeling he regrets everything.

The numbers on the wall descend quickly.

I stay near Eric as he takes the stairs two at a time, and Jason is a single step behind us. The air in here is sticky and warm, and the cement walls are much less pleasant than the other staircase.

So far, our mission to leave the hotel has been smooth, but tense. Eric led us out of the room with his weapon drawn. I held my breath until he gestured for us to follow him, and only stopped because it was trickier to move quickly with the bags. I remained on high alert as we passed the elevators, the main stairwell, and then down a long hallway that follows the shape of the hotel. We passed by a few other doors, although not many, considering this level held suites and penthouses, and I stared at the patterns in the ugly carpeting as we walked.

My palms were sweaty by the time we reached the stairwell marked 'employees only'. Eric and Jason argued briefly; Jason thought they may be hiding out here, or thinking we'd come this way, but Eric thought otherwise. A second passed before Jason gave in, and our descent was fast. They both are prepared to shoot, and the assumption is that I am, too.

My shoes hit the metal stairs with a thud, and it echoes. I try not to give into the nerves, and I refuse to give up on our plan. I'm prepared to encounter either –zombie or human –but my brain goes over Eric's plan until I force myself to think of something else.

"Shit! Sorry!"

I bump into him as we near the ground floor exit as he pauses. There is no peephole or window, so his only choice is to open it up, and be ready for whatever is outside.

I count to three. The seconds are tense, and it feels like ages before he gestures that the coast is clear, heads through the door.

I follow him into the lobby, and the smell of the hotel hits me. It's pleasant; there is no scent of death, and no one appears to be out here. He and I walk together, and Jason walks behind, commenting how he wishes he could have come here when it was busy. When we reach the main lobby, it's hard to miss the large doors. They've been pried open and almost all have been shattered. My stomach drops at the visible proof that someone has gotten in. We all stay silent, and at the last second, Eric decides we're going a different route. It's the opposite way I think we should be going, but I know why.

Through the lobby doors, I can see the patrol car. It's parked where the valet once sat, waiting like a wild animal.

Except one that's been attacked.

Someone has tried to get into it. The windshield is cracked bad enough it would be impossible to see out of, the doors are dented, and there's a trail of blood leading away from the driver's side. The hood has some scratches and scrapes, deep ones that run horizontally, and intense enough that I don't want to know what did it. I try to see if anyone's out there, but Jason makes a noise of surprise, then immediately whispers he's parked around back.

Eric says nothing.

He keeps walking, lips pressed tightly together, until we reach another exit.

The lights are on in the kitchen.

The florescent glare reflects off the stainless-steel prep tables, making it hard to see. I blink a few times, and it's strange to think I sat down here with Eric while he rifled through the large walk-in refrigerators to find something for dinner.

It feels like forever ago since we first showed up here, looking for respite and a few zombie free days. I bare the guilt of being the one who picked this place, though really, this could have happened anywhere. I have a forbidding sense of doom hanging over me, and it worsens with each step. When I nearly cave beneath the tension, Eric looks around suspiciously, and cocks his head to the side.

"Jason, did you leave these on?" Eric speaks quietly, glancing around with a sharp look. "When you came and got breakfast?"

"Pretty sure I turned everything off and shut all the doors." Jason points to the wide-open freezer, and we all stop by the corner of one large prep table. "You think they came this way? Maybe they took the food and left. Honestly, these hotels are pretty well stocked. There's a deep freezer a few rooms down that's completely untouched."

"Do you think they're still inside? Maybe they just wanted food and they left when they found it." I look to Eric, wondering if his police training has prepared him for this. I notice his eyes are trained on the door, and his hands are balled into fists. "Eric?"

"Stay here."

He leaves me with Jason and walks slowly, trying to see what's going on. He makes it to the freezer, then glances down the hallway beside it. This kitchen is immense; it's meant to serve several restaurants that are open all hours of the night, and there are plenty of places to hide. There are doors down the hallway, maybe offices or more storage, and another room where there are additional ovens and dishwashers. The freezer Eric is in front of is insanely large; I went in once, and I know how far back it goes.

The skin of my neck prickles when Eric slowly steps away from it. My grip on the bag tightens when he nods his head, and very, very quietly tells us there's someone inside, down toward the end of the freezer. My stomach drops like I'm on a rollercoaster, but Jason nudges my arm and whispers to head toward one of the doors. There's a chance we can get outside without them knowing we're in here, but only if we're careful.

"It's like five steps. Come on." Jason encourages me after Eric glares at him, and we all move carefully across the greasy floors. I'm two steps away when the ringing starts, and everyone freezes.

"Shit."

The ringing is coming from deep inside my bag, and Eric's eyes widen. I don't know if it's his or mine, but he must have shoved it in there when he packed, thinking he'd grab it later.

He hisses at me to turn it off, but it's too late. The sound is so loud it echoes off the metal, off the floors, and right into whomever is currently raiding the freezer. I fumble to try and find it, and when my fingers do find the phone, I silence it a second too late.

The person in the freezer emerges, and they're hardly a person.

They're one of them: the yellow eyed, open mouthed, razor sharp teeth gnashing zombies.

It heads straight toward us, and I barely have time to push the phone back into the bag before I'm shoved into the table. There's a wave of pain when my shoulder hits the corner, and it scratches my skin as I fall. I knock into Jason on the way down, and when he yelps, I hear Eric yelling. It's drowned out by the sound of gunshots flying over my head. The zombie falls to the side with a grunt; sickness spills from the wound in its head, pouring out onto the floor in a gush, so much more than one would think possible.

My moment of relief is short lived.

My stomach revolts.

I gag; he's so close it's all I can smell, and though I manage not to throw up, it doesn't matter. The kitchen fills with the undead. They pour in from the other rooms, filling up every free inch of space. I get back on my feet to find one right in front of me, eyes roving and lips covered in dried, cracked blood, and I scream. The sight is horrific, more so up close, and the smell is overwhelming. Before I can throw up in its face, Eric shoots him, and the zombie's head explodes onto me. I'm instantly covered in vile zombie blood. It drips down the side of my face, my neck, and my hair.

I gag again, but only until I see Eric.

His eyes are on me, burning with panic and a bit of adrenaline, but it's a mistake. The zombies behind him are quick, and he's knocked forward, right into the side of the freezer. His head hits the door handle with a sickening thud, and he slumps to the floor.

"No! No! Eric!"

This time, my scream is of pure anger.

I like Eric.

I maybe more than like him and were I not about to drown in a sea of corpses, I'd probably profess my love right then and there. Not just because we slept together, or because he's the only person who would ever understand what we've been through, but because I get him, and he gets me. He seems to like me, at least he did last night, and we both want to live.

Which is going to be impossible if he's gets bit.

The pulse of fear is white hot when the zombie looms over him, eyeing him like dinner. The zombie's jaw practically unhinges, and he rears back, preparing to bite.

It's then that Eric's eyes open. He groans, raising one hand to rub where he hit his head, and he looks confused. His stare turns skyward, but it's unfocused. He doesn't seem in any real hurry to get up, and I swear he mutters an irritated what when the zombie roars.

There is no time to figure out what's wrong with him. I scream his name over and over, trying to get him to move, and he doesn't.

A few feet away, Jason is easily hacking his way through zombies like some sort of zombie warrior. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him grab a long, sharp knife, and he impales it in the head of his next victim. He barely grimaces when he pulls it out, coated in a mixture of slime and blood, then he's onto the next one. He shoots several, maybe three or four, and I have the same gun in my hands by the time he's onto the fifth one.

I aim, right as the zombie nears Eric's head, and there's an explosion of both blood and guts. Much like earlier, I'm shoved back a step, right as the blood flies everywhere. It hits Eric in the face, sticking to his hair and cheeks, and he looks at me in pure disgust.

"What the hell are you doing? That just got on me!"

"Move! Eric! You have to get up! You have to hurry!" I panic when he doesn't move past sneering, but there really is no time to panic.

The room is now filled with the stench of death. I can barely breathe, and even Jason covers his nose, trying to shoot with one hand. He rounds the table to get to Eric, but he's cut off by a group of women, all with their appetites set on him.

"No!" I steady myself. My dress is yanked on by a slower moving zombie, a rare creature given his companions, and I kick her as hard as I can. I shoot the two closest to Jason, then I realize I'll have to reload. "Holy shit…Eric, I'm running out of ammunition. Do you have any?"

"What? Who are you? Why do you have a gun?"

"Jesus, Eric. Now is not the time for some memory loss plot bullshit. Give Everly your gun!" Jason yells, sounding hysterical. "Do you want to die?"

"Why the fuck are you yelling? I'm right here," Eric snaps, and he presses on his head with his fingers. "I'm also covered in this shit. It's –"

He ducks when one comes near him, fresh and violent. The zombie sprints in a way that makes me want to cry, and Eric's only saving grace is I have one bullet left. The zombie goes down in a spectacular fashion, but unfortunately, it's not enough. He has friends with him, six or seven, and they all are eager to get in on the fun.

"Okay, Everly, grab…whatever. Whatever you can. Go for the head first. As hard as you possibly can stab. You'll have to get really close." Jason slides across the table like he's in an action movie, shooting the lone zombie by the double sinks. He lands on his feet, and he grins. "Did Eric show you how to stab them?"

"He did. I can…but…"

"I know, you barfed. He told me. He said you're either sleeping or about to throw up. I heard all about it." Jason grins, and he hands me a barbeque skewer. "Here. Start with the ones on the left. I'll go right. Also, has he proposed yet? He seems oddly fond of you and he's not fond of anyone. I'm not even sure he likes me."

"What!" I shriek, but my attention turns from Jason, to the zombies, to Eric, fixing his hair in the middle of the kitchen. He's unbothered by the chaos around him. He merely shoves one zombie back, then attempts to re-part his hair so it lies flat. "Eric! Look out! It's going to bite you!"

"Fuck!"

My words catch his attention. He looks left and right, and there's some slow recognition that kicks in. I give him the benefit of possibly having a concussion, because he suddenly reaches for his gun, and it's knocked right out of his hands.

"Motherfucker!" He roars, but there's no point.

"Eric! Keep fighting! Everly and I will get to you!" Jason insists, and it's a wild attempt to keep Eric alive.

The zombies close in on him, and the gun is kicked near me. I fumble to grab it, and as soon as the cold metal touches my fingers, I aim at the first one. The shot is loud, and so is the hit. I loathe the way their heads seem to suck the bullet right in. Their skin is too soft, decaying at a rapid pace, and sticky.

But it works. The first one goes down, then the second.

The third does too, but the fourth doesn't. The gun makes a clicking sound, and I realize this gun is out of ammunition. I haven't been keeping track of how many shots Eric took, and there's really no time to fumble for more ammunition.

"Fuck!"

Somewhere in the distance, Jason takes on his own part of the herd. The air whooshes with slices and knicks. His knife clinks against the table, and there's a grunt of frustration when he stabs a zombie, then smashes his head into the floor to make sure it's dead. I take a cue from him and I toss the gun onto the counter. I head right for an unarmed Eric, looking alternately stressed and pissed off. He's surrounded by a semicircle, back against the freezer, and he knows his chance of getting bit are high. He punches one of the faster zombies in the face, but grimaces when his fist sinks into the head.

I figure it's now or never.

I reach the one on the end, and I stab him right in the temple with the skewer. It makes a squishing sound, and I dry heave when I pull it out. The second is harder. This zombie looks right at me, and my knife goes deep into his eye, as far as I can. There's a wail of disapproval from him –sort of a mixture of roared and screamed –and he lands with a heavy thud.

The next ones are even harder.

My fingers are covered in blood and guts, and they slip when I stab the third. It takes all my effort to get the skewer out. At one point, I'm pressed right up against the rotting walking dead monster, and I whimper when I feel its blood ooze onto my dress. I whimper again when I pull it out, and there's a thud as one finally gets the upper hand on Eric.

I hear him roar for the thing to get the fuck off him, then roar again when it doesn't. He yells my name too, dark and frantic, but I can't get there just yet. I stab one of the remaining ones in the head, well, as much of his head is left, then turn to finish the job.

All around us is pure chaos. The freezer door is covered in streaks of blood and guts and whatever else zombies are made of. Eric is relatively unscathed, minus the head wound, but he's losing ground. He kicks in an attempt to get the zombie away, but there's the snapping teeth of the undead near his neck, and I know I have mere seconds.

I lunge with everything I have. I manage to knock the zombie into the freezer door, and to my horror, his head dents inward. He pushes back, forcing me on top of Eric, and the zombie lands atop me. Having no real traction, I give him a second to think he's got the upper hand, then I stab him as hard as I can, right in the side of his head. My hand touches cold, papery skin, and my stomach burns when his mouth opens, and it's full of black blood.

Watching him die is disgusting.

The weird, reanimated life drains from his eyes, and his throat gurgles with fluid. I shove him away before it can get on me, but it wouldn't even matter. I'm covered in blood, my hair is sticky, and my fingers are numb. I turn to Eric, scrambling to help him up, and my stomach protests everything.

"Eric…Eric…oh my God, are you okay? Are you?" I can barely get the words out. I'm nauseated beyond belief, my leg is bleeding again, but Eric is alive and so am I. On the other side of the room, Jason triumphantly announces he's got the last one, and he's going to lock the doors the second he can. "Eric, did he bite you? Can you hear me? Eric!"

He looks up at me. His gaze is sharper now, focused and clear. His temporary amnesia is gone and he reaches up to take my face in his hands. He yanks me closer to him, so close my nose is nearly touching his, and in the background, Jason celebrates his final victory by informing us he just touched zombie brain and it's just as gross as he thought.

"Everly…" Eric starts, and his stare locks on mine.

"Wait…" I blurt out, and he smiles in amusement when I lean over, and I do throw up, right onto the zombie beside us. When I'm done, I wipe my mouth with my hand, feeling my eyes burn and my head hurt, and I know we need to get out of here, and get cleaned up quick. "Oh my god, I'm sorry. Eric, are you okay? I tried to get to you sooner but it was nearly impossible to get the skewer out. I think it got stuck in his brain."

He blinks.

His eyes search mine, and there's some strange recognition behind them.

At least, I think there is.

"Eric…say something!"

His expression changes. He touches my cheek with one bloody, zombie guts covered finger. He pushes my hair off my face, then arrogantly smirks, like he hadn't nearly just died. His fingers slide across my cheekbone, into my hair, and he curls them there, before he smiles even wider.

He holds my stare until I half smile back, and his eyes are clear.

"Marry me."

"Is it a real proposal, or a sort of make-up proposal because you're already married, and Eric didn't tell you?"

Jason, the voice of logic, whispers loudly while we hurry down a hallway. I have no clue where we're going, but he informed us he parked out back, and it's not far from here. I try to keep up with the both of them; Eric walks quickly, his weapon now reloaded and in his hand, and every so often, he glances back at me.

I had thought Jason was joking about the proposal but Eric's posture hints otherwise.

His eyes swam with a lot of things, but mostly head trauma. I sat atop him, covered in zombie blood, zombie guts, dirt, and probably some barf. It was in no way an opportune time for him to propose, but Jason's words make me curious, especially now.

Eric grunts at him to shut up, and we hurry down another hallway, this one simply marked BACK OF HOUSE.

"Wait. Are we married?" I look up at Eric, still handsome even with the bruise on his face and the blood in his hair, and he does a fantastic job of ignoring me. "Eric?"

"Look." He points up ahead, to the large docking bay doors. "It's the delivery loading zone. Are you sure you parked back here?"

"No." Jason's answer is cheerful, but ultimately, unhelpful. "I think I parked by the pool."

"Is that why you said my name should be associated with yours? Have we been married this whole time?" I interrupt the both of them, and they turn to me at the same time. "Jason, did you know this?"

He looks at me, and then Jason hesitates, and looks over my head at Eric. He shrugs, and I dare say, he looks guilty.

"Look, I want you to know, I really cherish our friendship. I think you're good for Eric. I think this has been a very exciting time for all of us, and the fact that I got to meet Everly first, before Rylan, is amazing. I'd like to continue being friends and I'd also like to point out the paperwork is practically pointless by now, because there isn't even a government office that exists, or anyone to file said paperwork, unless Eric filed it while we had a government and –"

"Jason, we don't have time. There's someone over there." Eric snaps, his voice tense and unhappy. "This isn't good. We have to either open up the doors or find another way out. We risk zombies if we head back to the lobby, or death by whoever that is if they shoot first."

"I don't see anyone," Jason counters. "Are you sure you're okay? You hit your head pretty hard there…oh fuck."

I've heard a few people talk about Las Vegas, and what stuck out to me was how their luck always ran out. Even when things were good, at some point, the strip had the upper hand. The casinos didn't want you to leave, the restaurants didn't want you to walk by without stopping in for dinner, and the dealers were betting on the visitors who were gambling away their days in a windowless room.

Our luck runs out right here.

In the very back of Caesar's Palace, where an entire army of survivors is currently on the hunt for anything they can use to survive.

Including us.

The standoff is intense, but sort of a strange relief.

The person Eric saw is a man, a few years younger than Eric, who looks just as annoyed at our presence as we are with theirs. He's surrounded by others, a rag tag group made up of men and women of all ages. They are unfriendly, dressed in dirty, torn clothes, and armed. I spy a few guns, several knives, and a gleam in their eye, that tells me they're willing to fight.

The man eyes us up and down, and there's a terse exchange of greetings. Eric grits out an unfriendly hello, and the guy answers back evenly. He has green eyes and dark hair, and his nose looks like it's been broken and healed crooked. There's a weird pallor to his skin, but I chalk it up to staying inside, hidden away from the zombies.

"Stay there! Don't come any closer." He stands up straight, taking a few cautious steps, and he demands to know what we're doing here.

"We're leaving." Eric barks, and his intimidation tactic makes the guy nervous. "What are you doing?"

"I'm looking for my sister," the guy calls back, and he looks at me. "I saw you from across the street. I'm Caleb. This is Tori. Molly and Zeke. Will. We thought maybe you had her."

"We don't," Eric retorts. "Did you knock on the door earlier?"

"Yeah, yeah we did." Caleb puffs his chest out, trying to look tough, but it's lost in the effort. "I thought maybe the girl with you was her. We've been here for a few weeks now and you guys are new. I thought maybe she met you walking or something."

"Did you destroy the police car?" I ask, and Eric glances down in surprise. My fingers graze his, and I mourn the thought of driving with him, and only him, because it's clear we aren't taking it. "Why would you do that?"

"We took what we could use," Caleb calls back. "Survival of the fittest. By now, I'm sure you've figured out that it's every man for himself."

Eric tilts his head, and his fingers twitch. "You fucked with police property. That car doesn't belong to you."

Caleb snorts. "Oh, I see. You're a cop. That would be impressive, but there are no laws anymore. What are you going to do? Arrest me? Shoot me? Take me to your jail?"

"Maybe." Eric stares him down, and his postures tenses. "I could cuff you and leave you in the car. You'd make a nice dessert for the next zombie who comes by."

"Fuck you, man. You're in our town. I don't care who you are or what your job is," Caleb spits, and he steps closer. He's even unfriendlier now, and it's hard to miss the deep scratches on his neck, and the dark, open wound on the side. I notice they're on his arms, too, and he's done his best to cover them.

I reach for Eric's hand, and he looks down immediately.

"Eric, I think he was attacked." I half whisper, and his fingers tighten on mine.

"Are you hurt?" Eric demands, and it's obvious he's unafraid. "Show us your neck. It looks like you're bleeding."

"Fuck you. I don't have to show you anything." Caleb immediately pulls his collar higher, and Jason steps forward.

"Are you hurt? If you need medical attention…."

"I'm fine," Caleb snaps. "You need to get lost."

"We're trying. We're heading out. This place is infected with zombies. You guys should get out while you can," Jason informs them, trying to help. "It's not looking good. These zombies are different."

"What are you, some sort of zombie expert?" Caleb scoffs, and I decide I don't like him.

"Actually, he is," I interrupt, and Eric's grip turns painful. He pulls me back a step, and I glare at him. "What's wrong?"

"Stay right here. Hey, Caleb. Are you sure you're feeling alright?" Eric asks, and his eyes don't leave Caleb. They're glued to his neck, and he lets go to reach for his gun. "Were you bitten?"

"I said, you need to get lost." Caleb glances back at his group, and they all nod. The girls are tough looking, tall and fit, and the one beside him glares at me. The guy behind him has a baseball bat, and he stares down Jason like he's sizing him up. "I'll give you two minutes to leave. But before you go, are you sure you haven't seen my sister?"

"No," I shake my head, answering before anyone. It's obvious that despite his tough guy persona, Caleb is worried. He's on a mission to find someone he cares about, and the frustration of another dead end is weighing on him. "We were upstairs in the hotel room, the kitchens, and the laundry. There wasn't anyone else in the hotel that we knew of. If there is, we didn't see them."

"Are you sure?" Caleb looks heartbroken, and he steps away from the group. "She's close to your age. A little taller, blonde hair…. she had her phone up until a few days ago. She said she was somewhere near Vegas. Her name's –"

"Tris."

The woman with dark hair blurts this out, and her eyes are wide with panic. From the side of the docking bay emerges a girl who isn't much older than me, despite her gray skin and missing chunks of hair. Her eyes are wild, not yellow, but definitely not normal. Her arms are covered in scratches and scrapes, and her neck as the tell-tale sign of being ripped apart. She walks more gracefully than Hazel, but with the same gait they all do.

Her eyes flash, and she heads right toward her brother.

"No!" His scream is quick, as is the turning of his friends.

Tori realizes Tris is no longer worth being found. She shoves Caleb forward, and the fight is immediate. His friends let him stumble, right into her. Tris looks at him, her head turned at an impossible angle, and when her mouth opens, I wait for her to say his name. She looks almost human when he shakily tells her he's so sorry, and he did his best to keep her safe, and lowly informs her their parents are long gone.

Tris tilts her head, so hard it sounds like the bones in her neck have popped, and she frowns.

Then she lunges at him. She knocks him onto the ground without much effort. His head hits with a thud, and she pins him down with an impressive display of strength. Before he can scream, her teeth sink into his throat, roaring something incomprehensible and angry, and when she pulls back, her mouth is full of skin. She spits it out in wild triumph, then leaps up and heads toward Tori.

"Fuck, go."

Jason grabs my other arm, and Eric and I take off running. We don't wait to see the bloodbath that we know is coming, nor do we want to waste the ammunition we have. Eric tries the door beside the docking bay grates, and it opens. He pulls me along with him, and the sunlight hurts as we rush out into it.

Jason glances around furiously, then swears. "My truck is not here. I swear I parked it right –"

The roar of the zombies starts up. It echoes from the docking bay, from inside the hotel, from the streets. I realize we are fucked if we don't get out of here, and fast. There is no time to figure out where Jason's truck went, or if the patrol car is drivable. Before I can suggest we try one of the hotel vehicles, thinking maybe the keys have been left inside, Jason starts waving his hands, yelling as loud as possible.

"Hey! Hey! Over here!"

It takes me a second to realize what he's waving at. Someone drives through recklessly, making a sharp u-turn. The RV screeches to a halt, and it's quite the sight. There is a Lakeview Police Department logo taped to the side, and the front has been modified with several sharp prongs meant to impale someone. There are satellite dishes on top, the windows have bars over them, and the tires are large and impressive. When the RV comes to a complete stop, the man inside yells for us to hurry.

"Do you know that person?" I panic, but it only lasts a second. He hops out, and is around to the side in a second. He's older than Eric and Jason but dressed in similar dark clothes. He has sunglasses on, and he throws the door open, yelling for Eric to move his ass. He looks at me curiously, then smiles and welcomes me aboard.

"Fuck. Did you know he was close by?" Eric asks Jason, shoving me forward. Eric grows impatient when I stop at the step to ask who this guy is. His hands fly to my waist, and he practically tosses me inside, then throws the bags in after me. "Everly, unless you want to die, I suggest you move."

"Wait!" I look up at him, and the guy urges them to get inside. Jason is a second behind Eric. He slams the door shut and locks it, and he lurches forward when the RV takes off. I'm thrown off balance as the man drives way too fast, but he's smart.

The zombies emerge out of everywhere. They appear in the docking bay, from doors exiting the hotel, and the lobby. The guy drives around, passing the now useless patrol car, and over the curb. He takes out the fence at the end of the valet drive, driving through without stopping. Eric helps steady me, and I lose my balance again, when we run someone, or something over.

Eric looks up front, and with a heavy sigh, he shakes his head.

Jason grins, and he grins even harder when Eric roars for Harrison to try and not hit anyone else on the way out.

Harrison tells him to sit down and shut up, and behind us, the strip becomes a distant but not entirely unpleasant memory.


End file.
